We met at the preserve

To hunt chanterelles,

It was the right time of year.

Tabasco ran ahead,

Snorkeling in chipmunk holes;

You strolled down the trail,

In unmatched thriftshop sandals,

A small wicker basket,

Adorned with plastic daisies,

In one hand;

Your battered, tattered jeans were

rolled up just below the knee;

Your ancient button-down shirt,

Red faded to pink,

Had the arms cut off

For coolness on hot summer days.

The sun shone brightly in your thick white hair

Tied in a loose ponytail 

That the eighteenth century aristocracy

Would have envied.

And with your white beard,

Johnny Appleseed comes to mind;

Or a garden gnome, 

You’d kill me if you heard me say that;

Or a sunny summer Santa

(Everyone says you look like Santa.)

We found the motherlode, 

Giant golden nuggets

Scattered across the forest floor.

You went to work with your knife

But I had brought none;

So I did what I usually do,

Photographing evergreen trees

And chanterelles

And a young Amanita jacksonii

Shining red in a sunbeam.

I went down to the creek

Where the shale shattered

In slim, sharp slivers

Like flint knives.

Finding a perfect piece

I went back to the patch

And harvested some chanterelles myself.

Of course you were tickled

That I’d fashioned my own

Stone Age tool;

That kind of resourcefulness

Makes you happy.

Done picking,

We headed up the creek a ways

To a secluded little waterfall

With a pool beneath

There are bigger falls in that creek

With large swimming holes

But your disdain for a swimsuit

Drives you to the secret corners.

The water was cool

And we sat in the current a while

Unclad, as usual, 

But with no physical contact

Because that is the etiquette

When swimming nude with friends.

Afterwards, I dressed,

Not minding a few drops of water

In my clothing;

You wanted to wait until you

Were completely dry.

Balling up your clothing,

You strode down the trail

Wearing nothing but those sandals,

Clothing tucked under one arm,

And plastic-daisied basket,

Overflowing with golden chanterelles,

On the other.

I suppose we eventually stopped

For you to re-dress

Before we got to the 

“Civilized” part of the preserve.

Best not to scare people

By looking like a wild man.

And afterwards, 

We probably went for pizza and beer,

To talk about canoe trips

And caving on Chimney Mountain

And sailing to Valcour Island

And Possibilities.