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Secret garden
Since I’ve had parrots on the brain for so long, I thought it would make a fitting end to my San Francisco trip to go in search of them. You see, according to legend documented fact, San Francisco has a wild population of feral parrots—if that isn’t nautically themed, I don’t know what is. Yarr!
I’d been told, however, that while popular culture has named them “the parrots of Telegraph Hill,” they didn’t actually spend much time there—so we had no idea where to look for them.
Jessica’s uncle David (pictured here with our print!), who’s lived in SF for decades, came to the rescue. He told me that actually, Telegraph Hill was a good place to look on Sunday mornings in September, and even if I didn’t find any birds, it made for a nice wooded walk.
He even scribbled a little map to show me a likely spot. Somehow, that little gesture made the whole thing a hundred times more exciting—I tend to explore cities without atlases or guides (or Googles) anyway, so this little scrap of paper turned a morning hike into a treasure hunt.
Now, I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but I’m a northern gal, so when somebody suggests walking through the woods, this is what pops into my head.
This, on the other hand, was a surprise.
Compared to the mossy pines and cedars in my frame of reference, Telegraph Hill felt like a tropical jungle.
My friends and I had the place almost entirely to ourselves—it was a dark, dreary day, which discouraged all the sun-lovers. So as we wound our way up the steps, it felt like we’d stumbled upon our own private garden, or maybe a path to some other world.
It was easy to forget that we were in the heart of a densely packed city (in California, no less)—this felt more like a secret, slightly English enclave through which we’d been granted safe passage.
Around every bend was a door, or a courtyard, or another track. Each felt like a gateway to something else, to maybe more and more and more worlds beyond our little slice of perception. It was a hint that what we could see was just the beginning—that what we couldn’t see was out of reach, and all the more tempting for it.
That sort of feeling is just my cup of tea, you know?
Every time that pleasant disorientation threatened to overwhelm me, though, out popped little hints of where I really was.
And whenever the trees gave way to open sky, guide posts appeared, showing us the way back—
and reminding us that reality was a stone’s throw away.
I almost forgot that we were even looking for parrots.
At the top of the hill, we heard a telltale squawking. I glanced up to catch a quick glimpse of two green birds with long tailfeathers speeding away to the west—unfortunately, my shutter finger wasn’t fast enough on the draw.
It’s like a ‘Where’s Waldo’ of SF—can you spot Lombard Street? The Golden Gate?
Oh, well. The view alone was the perfect end to the walk.
The vista of pastel stucco seemed like a gift, a reward at the end of an uncertain journey. It reminded me of what I love most about the place: that the city itself is like a garden of color—an urban forest in bloom.
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Thank you so much for the amazing response you’ve had to the Apocalypse Calendar! Literally overnight you’ve helped us raise over $1000. We have until the clock strikes midnight on Halloween to reach our goal—thank you for helping us get there!
It’s interesting to read about the history of these birds and where they came from. I’m glad that they are thriving in their non-native environment; it doesn’t seem like their initial introduction was too pleasant.
No doubt they are a charming symbol of the neighborhood. If I lived there, I’d be feeding them fruit everyday!