Yesterday, I joined a colleague and his family for dinner. The first course was a chanterelle omelet with chanterelles we found for ourselves. (Ok, really my colleague found them, and I just wandered around staring intently under bushes. The moral support has to count for something.) And when I think of champignons, I always think of Le Petit Prince. At that moment I was very busy trying to unscrew a bolt that had got stuck in my engine. I was very much worried, for it was becoming clear to me that the breakdown of my plane was extremely serious. And I had so little drinking-water left that I had to fear for the worst. "The thorns--what use are they?" The little prince never let go of a question, once he had asked it. As for me, I was upset over that bolt. And I answered with the first thing that came into my head: "The thorns are of no use at all. Flowers have thorns just for spite!" "Oh!" There was a moment of complete sil...
2021 and I'm still trying to remember which box I packed my sense of adventure in. Weaving and baking and walking the dogs until I can find it.