Before any ground was broken, Grampa cleared away the mushrooms. Boletes, Amanitas, morels. He placed the most precious—the orangey-yellow funnel-shaped chanterelles—under a birch for safekeeping. Their apricot aroma stood out even over the drifts from the outhouse. He picked the honey-brown flat-capped Armillarias, which were centered in icing-sugar halos of spores. These were not good eating, but the cascade of them around the white-barked birches told him the roots might be soft and easy to break through. The men started digging, raking the leaves, twigs, cones, and feathers into a pile.
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