We’re planning to attend a Casita Rally in Cherokee in October, followed by another week’s camping at Lake Allatoona.
In the meantime, I’m running out of things to do for fun. Normally, I would be entertaining myself hunting fall mushrooms, packing them in the dehydrator, and hoarding up a supply to last me through winter. But our exceptional drought has made that impossible.
So… on my mushroom board, there’s a poetry corner where people write mushroom related verses. I hadn’t written any verse in decades, but it’s been really fun putting my frustration with the drought in rhyme.
So, to prove how bored I’ve been lately, I offer the following!
I long for the patter of rain,
But fluffy white clouds do not deign
to give up a drop,
not even a plop,
This drought is a mushroomer’s bane.
Gray thunderclouds sailed by today
Then carelessly floated away
But still I can smile
at least, for a while,
They say it may rain for four days!
Gray banks of clouds obscured the sky
and dimmed the sun, but that is all.
It seems this dusty, arid, dry
event will last throughout the fall.
So I’ll just hold the dream in mind
of soft, warm rains and fairy rings,
And when they come, I’m sure I’ll find
much sweeter, yet, the shrooms of spring.