my parents started taking me and my brothers 50 years ago when I was about 5 or 6. We always went to the morel capital of the world, Cadillac, Mi. Back then you could just pull down any sandy road and pitch a tent. You could hunt all day and never see anyone else. We would bring home 3 or 4 bushel baskets on memorial day weekend. My how times have changed, Part of what made it special is gone. The silence and solitude of being one with nature cannot be found during morel season. But I managed to find it again about 10 years ago when I began hunting mushrooms after the morel season is over. Still haven't found a shroom that tastes as good but the enjoyment of teaching my grandson is priceless.