It Must be May

We’re walking in the Gousty woods and meadows on a misty, moisty morning in May — when it occurs to me that there is no place I’d rather be.

My brother, the expert morel mushroomer, leads the way.

As soon as the cousins see Grandfather digging in the garden, they surround him with love and curiosity.  He is a child magnet.

Asparagus!  We planted it three years ago, and harvested our first handful of spears this week.

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