Chanterelle Foraging
The first frost of late August brings the chanterelles up beneath the pines. We walk slowly, eyes on the moss, and return to the barn kitchen to prepare what we've found.
Swedish gold, hidden in the moss.
Our forester, Petter, has walked this forest for thirty years. He knows where the chanterelles return each August, where the porcini hide in the pine roots, and which trails the elk have moved overnight. The walk is unhurried — there is no race to fill a basket. We pause for stories, for the silence of the pines, and for whatever else the forest offers.
Back at the estate, what we've gathered is cleaned, sliced, and cooked simply over the open fire — folded into brown butter with a slice of black bread, a poached estate egg, and a glass of cold dry cider from the orchard.