I'm sitting here on a beautiful, rainy day at the end of a Michigan April, contemplating the emerald green of the new growth. The grass is impossibly soft; new buds stand out like millions of tiny jewels against the black of wet tree trunks. The crabapples and plum trees are sporting their May blossoms early, pinks and whites and magentas. The gray sky, so oppressive two months ago, now looks soft and warm as velvet. There are garter snakes on the move, even in the middle of the city; fat woodchucks snuffle around on the embankment of the railroad tracks. After the long winter, everything is beautifully, impossibly new. Fig. 1-1: Maple Street, in the rain. Fig. 1-2: The plum tree. View of Aberdeen Way, out front. For anyone who's lived in Michigan for any length of time (at least in the Lower Peninsula), you've most likely heard of that jewel of the northern forests, the elusive morel mushroom. The mere sight of one will cause even the most reserved of us to clap our hands
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