There is something about an acorn that fascinates me and always has. As a child growing up in the California foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains at the entrance to Sequoia National Park, our acreage had many oaks. Every year the falling of them would make me so happy. The smooth shape, the crusty little caps, the way they would easily lend themselves to play, would cause me to stuff my pockets to the overflowing. I still do not have any control over picking up acorns in the fall. Every year I make forages wherever I am to find some...