Where am I ??

Summer rolls on, and Stanford still seems like looking at Denali from many miles away: It’s kind of lost in the mist and seems more like a rumor than a reality. So I just concentrate on getting up every day to work at the visitors’ center, telling folks all day how to get to the sights. The questions tend to rank as follows:

1. “Where do I go to see the really big trees?” (A close second is “Where am I?” I point to the map. A lot.)

2. “Isn’t there a tree here that you can drive a car through?” (There are three, but not in the National Park. Call us crazy, but we tend to shy away from cutting holes in ancient old-growth forest.)

3. “Can we get the permit for the Tall Trees Grove?” (A great question about a long, rigorous hike. Unfortunately, often asked by perfectly coiffed and manicured folks in expensive leather shoes/coats, or those carrying oxygen and recovering from hip replacement surgery.)

4. “Do you have bumper stickers?” (Or hats, postage stamps, film, batteries, vending machines. . .the answer to all these being, no, no, no, no, no, aaaand….no.)

Most of our visitors are truly delightful. We get to hear how wonderfully cool the coast is (while the rest of the country broils, poor dears, we are basking in our usual summer temps of 63-68°.) They are thrilled to be in the midst of the tallest trees on earth, walking among giant coast redwoods that tower well over 350 feet, taller than the Statue of Liberty. They are excited about the accessibility of the Pacific Ocean (our center sits directly on the beach with a wall of windows overlooking the surf.) They get to see California quail, brown pelicans, osprey, and Stellar Jays. On many days, sea lions, seals, and gray whales make an appearance. On great days, folks spot a black bear. On the best days of all, no one sees a mountain lion.

There are, of course exceptions to the delightful visitor rule. There are visitors who have driven through the entire park without taking any of the scenic routes, are irritated that they missed the sights, and staunchly refuse to drive backward just seven miles to see the most incredible coastal redwood forest on earth. I mean, come on, people! This is Return of the Jedi and Jurrassic Park II scenery, for crying out loud!

One gentleman, when I started to tell him about fabulous things to see, stopped in mid-sentence and looked at me like I was trying to sell him a used car. “I already went to Yosemite and…how do you say that? Moor? Meer?” (It’s Muir.)

“I’ve already seen some nice trees,” says he. Now, I have a snide side a mile wide, and oh, how I wanted to say, “Well, gosh, you should probably just GO HOME NOW.” But I was good. I was professional. I smiled like a flight attendant on Demerol and said I knew that if he just drove seven miles up the highway he would not be disappointed. For a minute, I sort of hoped a mountain lion would show up and maybe play with him just a little bit, but I was feeling some hostility, you know. Abraham Lincoln got it right about not pleasing all the people all the time, and not being able to beat them unmercifully.

I think that’s how it goes. It’s all worth it, though, when a visitor gives you a big smile, and thanks you profusely for being so helpful. When they ask your name and shake your hand. When they happily tell you how glad they are to be here from Germany, France, Japan, Ireland, Australia, Missouri, Montana, and Maine. One dear lady came in and was exceptionally effusive. This grandmotherly woman was absolutely giddy, happily buying postcards and redwood seedlings. She told me it was her lifelong dream to see the redwoods. I told her, in all sincerity, that I was honored to take part in the fulfillment of her dream. She had come with her sister and brother-in-law from somewhere in the Midwest. When she went outside to see the ocean, her sister put it in perspective for me.

“My sister is so happy to be here,” the lady said. “She’s always wanted to see the redwoods. Last year she got breast cancer, and she said that if she pulled through, she was coming out here, no matter what.” People come in sometimes and say, “You’ve got the best job in the world.”

And sometimes they are absolutely right. Come see us.