Shati' tea and falafel shop "Jim Baker's Blue Jay Yarn," by Mark Twain

To experience Yosemite the way my mother, an old Californian, whose mother started the Save the Redwoods League, you should stay at "Housekeeping Camp" of the Yosemite National Park service. But you have to book long in advance for the summer months. I don't know if they let the burning logs fall off El Capitan at night, and if there is piano in the outdoors in the valley. I remember the funny song, "I'm an acompanist..the guy who never gets into the act." I heard that at Yosemite. It is something to see, that great cliff, cheared off like a half-loaf in the valley there in front of the Ahwahnee Hotel.

Here's a link, in old Macintosh Geneva font, to Mark Twain's "Bluejay Yarn" Chapter Three in A Tramp Abroad, where he ends with:

"Well, sir, they roosted around here on the housetop and the trees for
an hour, and guffawed over that thing like human beings. It ain't any
use to tell me a bluejay hasn't got a sense of humor, because I know
better. And memory, too. They brought jays here from all over the United
States to look down that hole, every summer for three years. Other
birds, too. And they could all see the point except an owl that come
from Nova Scotia to visit the Yo Semite, and he took this thing in on
his way back. He said he couldn't see anything funny in it. But then he
was a good deal disappointed about Yo Semite, too."