It’s been raining about every other day here in Cincinnati. The gardens love it (so do the weeds; my back, not so much). And the mushrooms. Mushrooms are everywhere. On grassy hills. Under huge, rain-drunk tomato plants. Clustered around the garlic. Forming collars around the sweet basil.
If only they were edible, I’d saute them up in some butter with the scapes I just picked.
They’re still fascinating to look at, clumped around an old tree stump in a field next to my house.
