There it stands. Yellow and bright like gold. A breeze through the green trees. The smell of Forest, life and decay all in the same breath. On the ground among last year leaves and branches from the winter storms it pushes through towards the warming sun. The chanterelle. Gently I pick them up making sure the tiny roots are spared for next year. A warm feeling spreads in my body as the smells brings me back to my childhood summers when I was with my mother and grandmother in the big forests around our summer house. Happy memories of warm summers swimming in the lake and walking to the neighbor a kilometre away to get fresh water or up to the old lady by the road who had a phone to call home to the city. The road smelled of hot asphalt in the hot summer day. In the house my mother was always offered a cup of boiled coffee. Me and my brother got a glass of strawberry juice and a cake called “hallongrotta”, Google did not manage this translation, but it was a soft cake with raspberry jam in the middle.

Coming home I clean the mushrooms and splice them to see that there is no insects or worms inside. Again the smell. It must be the mushroom that has the most pleasant smell. This task is a bit boring I must confess, it takes the same time to clean as to pick them even if you are careful. When they are cleaned you fry them in butter with a sip of olive oil, salt and pepper and when they are almost ready you put some bread in the pan to soak up the fat. A perfect evening meal together with fresh milk.

Sorry guys but I am hungry and make this a short post before I go and eat. Please let me know if you like this and feel free to comment. I wish I could share this with you all.