The Hunt, the Lesson, and the Gift: A Wild Day in the Woods
- maria gladue
- May 19
- 6 min read
By Alberta Wildcraft
Meet Your Wildcrafters
Just two humans, side by side in the heart of the forest. No filters, no fuss—just us.
This is where we feel most at home. Among the trees, with the scent of pine and moss in the air, and the ground soft under his boots and my moccasins.
We’re Maria and Ron—the hands and hearts behind everything we do here at Alberta Wildcraft. When we’re not homeschooling, playing with the kids, crafting, foraging, or stirring something wild on the stove, we’re out here—living it, breathing it, learning from the land. And today? Today was one of those lesson days.
The Plan
We had three goals when we packed up the truck and hit the back roads this weekend:
Harvest wild sap for future batches of pine gum, soaps, and balms
Find a new off-grid camping spot for our next family camp trip
And the big one... find morel mushrooms
I was feeling hopeful. The weather was right, the gear was packed, and the trails were calling. I’d had the travel bug all week and knew in my heart—we just had to head out. Something big was waiting.
But here’s the thing: the forest never promises anything. Yet it always gives you something. And this trip? It gave us a whole journey.
Enter the False Morels
Not long into the hunt, we spotted the first mushrooms. Deep brown, brainy-looking, curled like little trolls hiding in the grass and moss between a poplar, pine and a spruce.
I caught sight of the first one while ducking under a branch to collect pitch. Then another one, as I stepped into a clearing heading for the next tree.
False morels. Gorgeous, but dangerous.
I’ve tasted true morels before—thanks to my brother, who years ago stumbled across a huge patch while out hunting (yep, while taking a pee in the woods). He brought them home, knowing how badly I wanted to try them, and let me cook them up. I’ve been craving that deep, beefy flavour ever since.
I know the terrain. I know what trees they like, the ground cover they hide in. I know where they should be—and yet here was the universe handing me its toxic twin instead.
Honestly? I don’t think it was an accident.
Instead of a morel harvest, I was handed a lesson—straight from the Creator. A lesson in humility, attention, and gratitude. I took time to study their wrinkles, their stems, the colour, the feel of their flesh. I knew they were false morels by the brainy caps, but I was hopeful. Maybe the real ones were nearby.
They weren’t.
Hours passed. We walked prime morel terrain. Not a single one.
I believe this was the Creator’s way of saying:You cheated the first time you tasted morels without going through the journey—the hunt, the harvest, the gratitude, the connection.
So with respect, I left them. Photographed, admired… and left behind. Another humbling lesson tucked into the moss.
And Then... the Forest Said, “Here, Try These”
Just when I had mentally crossed morels off the list, we found them. Not morels—but something better. Something meant to be. Something delicious and beautiful.
Oyster mushrooms.
Big, fresh, thick clusters growing from a downed poplar, just waiting. Calling my name. I spotted them from afar and told Ron, “Honey, look ahead—I think I found oysters!”
These are the kind of mushrooms you don’t miss—unless you’re walking too fast. They were glowing. I’d never found or eaten them before, so this was both discovery and dinner.
The first thing we did was give thanks to the Creator.
Then, with a careful cut, we harvested them—leaving one behind for the spores to carry on. I brought the cluster to my nose and was hit with the sweet scent of black licorice. So fresh. So potent. So unmistakably oyster.
We tucked them gently into our pack and carried on, giddy like kids in a candy shop. Still hopeful to find more… but already so thankful for what we’d been gifted.
How to Identify Oyster Mushrooms (And Why These Ones Were a Dream Find)
Before I ever put a wild mushroom in my pan, I make sure I know exactly what I’m dealing with—and oyster mushrooms are one of the easier, safer species to learn.
Here’s what we looked for:
Gills: The gills run all the way down the short stubby stem. That’s a key feature.
The gills run along the stem Color: Ours were a creamy white with slight beige-gray hues. Depending on variety, they can range from white to light brown or even blue-gray.
Texture: Smooth, a bit rubbery when fresh, but firm. They don't feel fragile like other mushrooms.
Scent: These smelled strongly of black licorice (anise)—a dead giveaway. The fresher they are, the stronger that sweet scent.
They were growing on dead poplar wood, which is classic oyster mushroom habitat. And most importantly, they were growing in clusters—another telltale sign.
From the Woods to the Frying Pan (and the First Taste at Camp)
We didn’t wait long to try them.
The morning after our harvest, parked at a quiet little spot off an old logging road, I fired up our camp stove and cooked one whole oyster mushroom—just one cap from the cluster. I dropped it into a small pan with butter and a splash of lemon juice. Simple, clean, and exactly what I needed to taste it for what it was.
It was the first time either of us had tried wild oyster mushrooms.
They browned beautifully—edges crisping just a bit, the center softening into a tender, almost meaty texture. I split it in half: one for me, one for Ron.
I loved it. The lemon gave it a bright finish, the butter brought out that earthy richness, and the whole thing just felt like a reward from the forest.
Ron? Not so much. He appreciated the flavour and the story behind it, but the texture wasn’t his thing. He gave me that “I support you, but nope” kind of look. And hey, fair enough—wild food isn’t one-size-fits-all.
I filmed the moment, too. That first-taste breakfast out in the bush—[I’ll be sharing it soon as a reel →
A Wild Meal Shared at Home
Now home, As the cast iron pan warmed on the stove—just like we use at camp—I got to slicing the rest of the oyster mushrooms. I chopped them into bite-sized cubes, easy for small mouths to manage.
Then I tossed them into the hot butter with a splash of lemon juice, right alongside a juicy steak.
The scent filled the house instantly. Rich, savoury, with just a hint of the wild still clinging to it.
My oldest son was right there at my side, eager to try them. He told me how he’d been chewing on pine gum the whole time I was gone—probably thinking of me—and even tossing chunks into the cast iron pan to experiment. I had to laugh. That boy’s got the wild spirit too.
My daughter waited patiently, eyes wide and fork ready. I told them this wasn’t just any dinner—it was forest food. Hand-harvested. Cooked with care. Given with thanks.
They didn’t hesitate.
Both kids cleaned their plates—steak and mushrooms, every bite gone. And then? They asked for more.
Watching them eat something wild that we had gathered with our own hands… it was grounding. This wasn’t just a meal—it was connection, tradition, and gratitude served hot in cast iron.
The Takeaway
We didn’t find morels.
But we found what we were meant to find.
A deeper lesson. A new camp spot. A car full of wild sap. An unexpected gift growing from the trees. And a shared meal that turned into a memory.
This is the heart of wildcrafting. You go out looking for one thing, and the forest gives you something else—something better. If you’re paying attention, the land will teach you. Humility. Patience. Presence. Gratitude.
That day, we didn’t just bring home mushrooms and pitch. We brought home a story. We brought home joy. We brought home connection.
And honestly? That’s the kind of nourishment we’re really after.
Disclaimer
Please note: Always positively identify any wild mushroom before harvesting or consuming. Some species can look similar to edible varieties but are toxic or even deadly. When in doubt, consult a local expert or mycologist. This post is for educational and storytelling purposes only.
Camping on Crown Land in Alberta is permitted for up to 14 days in one location, but it’s your responsibility to follow all local regulations and respect the land. Pack in, pack out, and leave no trace.
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