The Oak trees are dropping a heavy load of acorns here. Sadly, what is the single richest food source in the world now falls on asphalt. It is a nuisance, a hazard to liberated women in shoes befitting chinese foot binding and aggressive tread patterns for mid life crisis red sports cars. The wild animals don't even dare come down to eat them and my Chumash friends always suggest a hamburger and beer. Acorns were found mixed with the cremated remains of Phillip of Macedonia. My Grandmother's curtain pulls were shaped in premium, post ww2 plastic acorns; a cultural memory of window sill offerings to abate a certain god of thunder. Once again I'll gather several pounds under the condescending looks of my nieghbors. Most will go to a certain deer trail, a few planted and I'll even perform the laborous regimen of cracking,leaching, milling and cooking some into acorn cakes. They go down well with imported british beer. After all, I am practising for survival scenarios ( not the beer)