We have quite a few trees that we know very well. We’ve known them for years, we walk in to check on them after a storm of great magnitude, we want to see how they’re doing.  The sun’s out now, and when we walk through the manzanita grove to find this oak, there’s something blooming that smells magnificent, a scent I don’t remember from many years walking through these woods. There are bees out, too. A lot of bees, I see Banksy maybe get stung. For such a drama queen, bees don’t seem to affect her when they bite and she just shakes it off. A trait I watch quite carefully.

But mostly the bees mean no harm, no ill will, they’re just sitting on the cottony little buds of whatever the leafy plant is that smells so good.

You’d think the behavior of humans would be as stable as the trees, once you’ve lived for a while. Not sure how old these oaks are up here, they’re on the ridge above where the redwoods are, you see them just before you drop down where it’s darker and wetter. They’re old enough to be good friends. They take care of themselves, we take care of ourselves.

We can smell those bee trees from up here, the breeze blows through while we’re on pause. We’re all in this for ourselves. Trees and dogs are opportunists, the trees reach up to find a patch of sun in a crowded grove, dogs figure out how to work the game so they win. These are the rules of the game, Darwin figured that out a while back. I still take the dogs out there and we check on all of them. Sometimes when we find one down, that’s how it goes. Not sure if they would ever notice if we didn’t make it out there, or if it was one of us who was down.

Actually, I am sure. They don’t care. I care about them, the dogs care about me, and the trees just need water and sun, and some of them need the bees. Everyone for themselves. Then we move on to check the next tree.