As I rest in the barn's early afternoon shade, this is my view. The titmice and bushtits work over every inch, the flickers and collared-doves call out loudly, and every afternoon the sun hits the bees' nest just right and brings a passel of them out to celebrate (or maybe it's to question the ways of the world). My siblings and I recall when this tree was oh, MUCH smaller. Two of us do remember, though, that valley oaks like to collapse without warning, which we fully expect this one to do; I try not to park the VW under it.