Snow, sleet, rain, or shine, in my family, Mother’s Day weekend is devoted to mushroom hunting. My grandparents started the trek up north over fifty years ago. They decided to make it a family ritual because they got hooked on the beautiful forest, delicious mushrooms, and quality family time. The Harness crew of twenty still camps on the same hard dirt patch in the middle of the Mesick forest every year. We refrain from taking showers, watching T.V., and we devour sausages and pancakes cooked over the fire. The mushrooms are merely our excuse to leave our homes in Lower Michigan and venture up north to rougher country to bond as a family.For country bumpkins like my cousins and me, mushroom hunting is the perfect opportunity to roam free, get dirty, and look for a little trouble. When we were hauled up to the north woods as tiny tikes we would roll in the dirt and draw pizzas with twigs, decorating them with sawdust for cheese and stones for pepperoni. My older cousins were not so innocent; they took advantage of the fact that they were my heroes and could make me do anything. As we climbed a bumpy trail riding on the tailgate of my grandpa’s truck, they hung my small body over the back and shouted, “You can fly!” The dirt rushed before my saucer size eyes like a mudslide.
Surely this is not my mother’s ideal way to spend the holiday, but she is a strong Harness woman who puts up with it because she recognizes the importance of creating family memories. I too am coming to realize that mushroom hunting is more than just a childhood adventure– it is a unique Michigan experience that will continue to bring the ever-changing Harness family together. The older I become the more I appreciate our precious time together, and the comforting isolation of the north woods.
