secret spots, and camping with Josh

I think I’m the only person who ever makes Josh go camping, but this time it took no coaxing whatsoever.  He and his friend, Cindy, were happy, eager even, to come along with Andre and I to hunt porcini and other wild foods.  After waiting patiently while we finished up a long morning of processing mushrooms, more than half lost to worms (lesson learned the hard way), we drove up the canyon road to our favorite and most productive site. 

Minutes after arriving we had already gathered more than enough for dinner, but the setting sun forced us back to Butter to find a place to sleep. The following morning, I woke up before everyone else and decided to do a little sunrise yoga, but I grabbed my knife just in case... smart move.  Andre joined me shortly thereafter, and by the time Josh and Cindy got up, we'd already filled more than a bag.  

After enjoying the delicious hawks wing frittata they whipped up, we gave the newbies a quick lesson on edibles, what to look for and what to avoid.  Armed with knives and paper bags, it became quite obvious that they had caught the fever.  Porcini after porcini.  Like the time we took Ram up to Topanga to look for chanterelles, we just couldn’t stop.  Despite the fact that there were several other hunters, we quickly filled our bags, all the while munching berries and thin slices of raw mushroom.  Everyone was happy, even Josh, who didn’t fare so well at 10,000 ft.

After arriving back to town, Andre and I had a pretty intense conversation.  I now feel a bit torn.  Keeping our spots a secret seems contradictory to the purpose of this trip.  After all, I want people to realize the bounty that exists around them, to free themselves from industrialized food, and to connect with the land on which that food grows.  At the same time, I return to my spots in Colorado every fall and want to know that those adorable little porcini will always be there, waiting patiently for me to lovingly pluck them from the forest floor.  My conversation with Andre reminded me of those competing goals, and it felt threatening.  Eventually, I suggested that he was right, that we should share our spots with others, and the conversation space began to feel calm again… that is, until I told him I wanted to share his morel spots back home in LA.  Now, he’s the one who seems torn, especially because we both enjoy selling and trading our finds. Something like the Tragedy of the Commons?  Conflict sparks thought, and this is one I'll be thinking about for a while.  In the meantime, mum's the word.