After all the schools and municipal cafeterias stopped taking shipments of wild mushrooms from the county co-op, they all came to my company for us to use. Normally, this would be fantastic. Mushrooms make great fertilizer.
I’ve got acres upon acres of property with great soil. It’s such good stuff that people come from all over the country in dump trucks to buy a load and haul it back to wherever they want. Our family’s been caring for the land for going on 200 years now. We’ve been asked to sell the property to big agribusinesses more times than we can count, but we could never give it up. Even when the offers got into the upper seven figures, we’ve been content with the low sixes that come in consistently, year after year.
I got a phone call a month ago from the farm co-op that’s been handling all the local produce for the county’s schools and whatnot. Apparently there’s been no interest in the mushroom glut after little Danny Lansing’s tragic passing. The co-op guy on the phone told me what I already knew: the boy’s death was from an unknown allergic reaction and no one else, as far as he knew, had gotten sick from the mushrooms. I listened and waited for him to tell me what kind of deal he’d give me if I were to buy the whole supply. Continue reading “Far Too Many Mushrooms, part 2”