“We are going mushroom hunting” he whispered.
Sleepy eyed, we stepped out into the dark and walked what seemed like forever, down the poplar lined French country roads, to the forest. On this holiday, my dad read us chapters, with all the voices, from ‘Lord of the Rings’ every night, by the huge fireplace. The forest, when we arrived, seemed to me to be populated by elves, trolls and hobbits. The trees were Ents and I imagined Aragorn sweeping me up in his arms. After hours of searching, dawn came up, we found three orange chanterelle mushrooms and a few ceps.