This past week, I had a passing thought that I should call David Hirsch. I didn’t know he’d been ill. I just missed our long, meandering conversations. For many years, I had considered David and his wife, Marie, as friends. It was never easy to get to see them, as the Hirsch ranch was a long way from anywhere, but I did drive out Bohan-Dillon Road any number of times to visit, with one memorable overnight stay on the floor of a cabin under construction, to awaken to the Pacific and the bird song in the midst of the coastal redwoods.