The Garden (Fiction)

I wasn’t planning on visiting San Francisco. The company made a last-minute change on the team and I was asked to fly on short notice from Indianapolis to the Bay Area to visit a client. Tech boom stuff. I’d never been out West before; none of my Midwestern family had moved out there and it was always cheaper to fly somewhere closer, somewhere flatter. I wasn’t thrilled about the plan and knew nothing about the city. To make up for the inconvenience, I’d been given an extra day to explore after I finished my meetings, so I did what I always did: Walked.

I stumbled upon the San Francisco Botanical Gardens and went inside on a whim, something ethereal about the place drawing me in. I grabbed a map and began to wander. Work had been busy, and I decided to leave my phone in the car instead of refreshing my email and Slacking my product team while I brushed past Chilean rhubarb and Eucalyptus trees.

Small groups picnicked on the Great Meadow and gathered around Fountain Plaza. I ducked into the ancient plants section, trying to read the map – something I’d had my phone do for years. I walked along the rickety pathway through the prehistoric time periods that brought humanity to life. I wanted to google a few things forgotten since high school Biology.

Rounding a bend, I tried to leave the living fossils behind but the map didn’t seem to match reality. I was looking for the Australia garden, wanting to walk through the tree-covered beds and their giant spear lilies, but South African King Protea’s surrounded me. I walked a bit further, figuring I’d at least reach the tall trees of the Chilean Andes that preceded the Australian outback. Instead I found myself smelling the sweet fragrance of the Rhododendron’s that purportedly occupied the beds right inside the main gate. Something was off. Why wasn’t there an app for this?

I asked around but nobody knew what to say; they all seemed to understand what was happening, where they were. I didn’t have anywhere to be for a while, so it didn’t matter.

I took off my Dreamforce conference windbreaker, sweating as the morning fog burned off and my too-expensive espresso kicked in. There were only 55 acres of garden and yet I couldn’t seem to find my way out beyond the beds around me. Even the Great Meadow was somehow hidden as I walked under Andean brush palms and past the Conifer lawn. My head was spinning. I couldn’t find anyone to help me, now that I actually needed a person. The winding path through the succulent garden led nowhere and I had to turn back. Elon Musk would know what to do.

Finally, I pushed past an enormous aloe that covered the narrow path I’d chosen randomly, and I stood in front of a New Zealand Christmas Tree. I’d seen one in Chicago’s Lincoln Park Conservatory as a kid. It had been years since I’d been a Southsider and just as long since I’d had any real interest in botany. My heart sank. I’d always wanted to follow in the footsteps of George Meléndez Wright and somehow, I’d gone into product development. Still, I savored the moment, thinking about the pleasant summers I’d spend with my head in botany books and trips to Lincoln Park.

I walked on. Eventually, I needed to find my way out and followed sign after sign that led me in circles or, more often than not, nowhere at all. The sun beat down as the day wore on and Bamboo Lake shone with reflections of the plants that surrounded it. Person after person ignored my requests for directions and several hours passed as I traversed through the gardens, enjoying myself but uncertain about what exactly was happening.

As the sun sank lower over the Golden City, I had to sit down. I polished off a granola bar and drank some water. Through the trees ahead, I noticed a Winter’s bark tree that reminded me of the Denver Botanical Garden and the Science Pyramid. I’d spent hours there on a trip, wandering around and taking extensive notes in my journal – for what? For fun, I thought. The memories of that trip made me smile and I had to think hard about where I’d stashed that notebook. It was underneath my copy of The Challenger Sale.

I found myself surprisingly at peace sitting there, but I was committed to finding the exit before the park closed – I had an office to return to, emails to send, products to build. I needed to wash my branded fleece before I could wear it to work next week. It was another hour of back and forth through the park to no avail. I had always resented the flat corn land around Indianapolis but at least you couldn’t get lost out there. The unhelpful crowds that had swarmed around me all day were thinning out. I’d tried to follow people earlier, assuming they would lead me out eventually, but I always lost sight of them as I tried to keep their pace and they went around the bend of some curving path.

It was dark when I fell, my Cole Haan sneaker catching a root. I tumbled off the path and found myself in a grove of Redwoods when I regained my balance. They were enormous, the first I’d ever seen, and I knew they paled in comparison to the famous ones in Redwood National Park. They took my breath away, even though I could barely make out their uppermost branches. Small patches of city-lit sky poked through – a reminder of how close to civilization I supposedly was. The trees reminded me of the places I’d camped in college, those weekend trips away from all responsibility. They were times of peace and serenity I’d forgotten about. There hadn’t been Redwoods in Indiana, but it hadn’t mattered during those trips.

I got up eventually and walked through the grove, feeling the bark of the California natives and using them for balance as I tried in vain to read a useless map. I’d been in the park for hours and my understanding of the world had all but disintegrated. And I was beginning to love it.

The garden was adopting me, making me a part of its essence. I was the fauna amongst flora, welcomed despite my lengthy career in software and love of company-branded clothing that I hated getting dirty. The Redwoods spoke to me quietly, guiding me safely through the darkness and bringing me back to an earlier me. Younger me.

There it was, out of nowhere: the gate. It reminded me of somewhere, but I couldn’t remember where. Somewhere greener. Softer. Lit on either side, the pathway between the kiosks would lead me to freedom again, to my car, to the airport, to my products. I stood still for a moment, head tilted slightly, the world beyond buzzing with nighttime walkers and cars headed for 19th Street. Peace inside, chaos beyond. The garden was offering me a choice.