I didn't find any morel mushrooms either because they were too hidden or being part of a novice forager-party we didn't know where to look. Though, I am glad I got to get my hands dirty looking through a carpet of dead leaves of deciduous poplar trees. The aromatic smell of earthiness in the mountains was unbeatable. We hiked to a waterfall during the mycological walk.
The great thing about the mountains is that these rare mushrooms are sold in farms and markets for half the cost of what they would be in fancy food shops. Although, there's a sense of accomplishment and excitement in going to the mountains and finding one's own, I still didn't have to spend a lot of money to buy them.
Two steps into town and I am turned into an absolute omnivore. The produce that's available to a gal living in Boston is fairly restrictive during this time of year, so it's amazing to be walking around a farmer's market in the mountains and trying different berries from earthenware containers, or walking the streets of a countryside downtown and crunching on a homemade pickle.