Morel mushroom hunting in northeast Nebraska has been a generational tradition since the first pioneers pierced the ground with plows. The first days of sunny weather teases with birds singing, insects chirping and the faint whiff of morel mushrooms tantalizing your nose. My grandfather taught me where to look for the delicacy as his had taught him. On the land that my great-great grandfather homesteaded, only cattle now graze. Almost every spring I walk the land to see ghosts from the past and perchance a mushroom or two. Or maybe it is the other way around.