The oak survived its first winter.

That felt like an omen, though I didn’t trust omens anymore. Too many things survived when they shouldn’t, and too many didn’t when you planned carefully. Still, when the snow melted and green returned to its leaves, I let myself mark it as a small win.

Spring brought problems.

The listening sites—no, the libraries and gardens and weather sheds—multiplied faster than we’d expected. Not because the presence forced them, but because people copied ...