The picture of Dagmar and the mushrooms, (and notice the huge pile of chopped onions ready to go with the meal! no-one could chop quantities of food like Dagi) was taken at our home near Kingston in the fall of 2009. It was her last visit, and she was not very well. She loved to visit the country, and our farm, so it was great she got to come out one more time. I will never forget how her eyes lit up when we brought the puffball to her. Not one of her favourites of course, but big enough to feed us all well. The mushroom picture will always be treasured and will always remind me of our trips to the forest to find them. Morels, chanterelles, honey mushrooms. Inedible beauties we would find too. Mushrooming trips were carefully timed and planned, and took us to the many places she had found and connected to despite having no independent means to get out to the country, and not owning any property herself. She had a huge network of relations and contacts and places of beauty to go. Dagmar could make much from very little. When I got to her place on mushrooming mornings, she would be busy preparing a picnic of dark bread, spiced sausage and cheeses, salads and drinks. We would feast like queens whatever we did. Our mushrooming trips inevitably bloomed and blossomed into side tours and vital pick-ups; we must also visit the honey man, or go to the purest spring water just around the corner and fill up, or visit the nearby spiralled veggie gardens at that magical retreat. We would almost always pack the car with pots, trowels and plastic, jugs, knives and newspaper,just in case we should be able to dig a pagoda dogwood, some wild ginger, or bloodroot (etc etc) for transport to home gardens. Oh! and yes, the impeccable reference books about everything; wild edibles, mushrooms, forest plants, trees, insects..... and on. So that we could learn about what we saw right there and then. She would have planned a swim or a dip in a known part of the river or lake too. Being in the forest with her, often just the two of us, was a heavenly experience. There were the smells, the peace, the quality of light and sound, the canopy of trees arching over us, the plants to ogle over as we walked. There was the conversation about what we were seeing. There was the way she could spot mushrooms, perhaps sense them was the better word. It seemed she operated on another plane, but more likely it was her extensive knowledge that made it look easy for her to find them. She said some people had a knack for spotting them. When the mushrooms had been found she would pick, handle and pack them in her basket like they were delicate butterflies. She would praise and love them, and describe their likes and dislikes. She would insist on only the most careful cutting with a clean sharp knife, so as not to disturb their roots, so they would be healthy for their next fruiting. They would be lovingly separated by type between newspaper, and all done just so. Dagi, I'm so incredibly grateful for having been able to share these times with you, and walking in the woods looking for mushrooms will never be quite the same without you. Thank you for so much beauty and exploration and information. It was fantastic. love Jayne