Morel season in full swing and I am once again in search of hallowed ground. As a new-ish transplant to the Northeast, I don’t have a honeyhole to speak of. No spot has been handed down to me over familial generations; I haven’t had seasons of time hunting morels. Rather, I’m having to seek out spots that look good, try them out, and hope I get lucky. This year, part of that search had included library research in an attempt to track down forests I think promising. Then, that mostly meant I was looking for places with aging ash or