Mushrooms and Fungi

Grandmère Moulin introduced me to wild mushrooming. As I walked down the hill towards the village, past the farmhouse thatched with short-stemmed broom bushes, I noticed a grey-haired figure bent double in a meadow bordering the road. I drew near and she came across to talk. In answer to my query she held open her apron to show me a cushion of delicate purple flowers – the heads of hundreds of violets. ‘I pick some each day, to dry, for the fair. And also,’ reaching into her pocket, ‘for my lunch, some mousserons.’