I used to have a great friend who would come to visit me in the summer to harvest the purple plums when they ripened, and the mushrooms under the oaks. I miss her. She made an awesome German plum cake, and could tell the difference between mushrooms that would make you – well, let’s just leave it at sick. Although she would try to show me the subtleties of mushroom differentiation, from year to year I would forget, and as those differences were small, I would not venture to take that on myself. I miss fresh picked wild mushrooms – they have a delicate and special flavor. So now, this time of the year, as I wander up to the mailbox and see the mushrooms just sort of going to waste – although regenerating and making more mushrooms is hardly waste – I miss Erika and the taste of plums (the tree is gone too,) and a nice omelette with wild mushrooms.