The Tree in the Forest

Remember those days when you had so much time on your hands that you could spend an hour with your college friends discussing whether a tree falling in the forest that no one saw or heard really happened? This is not to lapse into false nostalgia, because really, who cares about that hypothetical tree? Maybe we could have spend that time talking about how we might dismantle the patriarchy or turn around the toxic narrative of white supremacy or hold the rich accountable to give back to the common good. Well, truth be told, we did that too and look at where we are. Maddening how little seem to have progressed. 

 

But I’m thinking about that tree this morning because I was a part time tour guide to a dear friend from Hong Kong the last four days. Both on her own and with me, she went to Alcatraz, took the Bay Cruise, went to the Dear San Francisco show at Club Fugazi, took in the Fillmore Street Jazz Festival, ate sushi in Japantown, wandered through Chinatown and North Beach, went on an evening Ghost Tour, walked the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral, snuck into the Crown Room at the Fairmount Hotel with its stunning view, peeked into the Tonga Room Bar, drove around the edge of the city with short stops at The Palace of Fine Arts, Fort Point, the Legion of Honor Museum, went to a Body Music workshop in Berkeley, admired the view from Twin Peaks, played music with me at The Jewish Home for the Aged, peeked into the gates of The San Francisco School (it was closed) and yet more. 

 

Throughout all that, she never once saw the Golden Gate Bridge, as every single minute of every single day it was wrapped in fog. Even at Fort Point when we were right below it, all you could see was a dim outline of its girders. The sun shone often in many other parts of the city, but the fog stayed stubbornly clinging to the bridge.

 

So here’s a question for today’s college students. If a diehard tourist visiting San Francisco never once sees the Golden Gate Bridge in four days, does it truly exist?