Oak in a field I sat down in a field to write a story for my grandkids. It was July and already the air hung heavy as the day warmed and temperatures soared, hot and humid. The gnarled oak tree provided small comfort… Once upon a time there was a farm … what a cliché beginning. Don’t all kids’ stories start out that way? Back to my train of thought…. The farm was nestled in a small valley encircled by golden-hued rolling hills dotted with oak and madrone and stately cottonwoods. Wheel-lines spurting sprays of cooling water to the surrounding fields; the sound echoing – ch, ch, ch, ch was mesmerizingly bucolic. Oh, where is my concentration? I’ve been listening to the cadence of the sprinklers … CH Bailey sits in this tranquil setting. Big and white, the farmhouse is the focal point. Its black plantation shutters and iconic red door that mimics the tones of the outbuildings has weathered the summer’s smoldering heat and ...