On a recent June morning, with San Francisco draped in its finest gray after weeks of sun, I found myself walking west on JFK Drive in Golden Gate Park. I don't get to JFK that often, compared to the frequent hiker miles I rack up in the rest of the Park. But after the city's recent decision to make one stretch permanently car-free, I was curious to see how it "felt" in the middle of the week.
I had just passed the Rose Garden when, on the north side of JFK, I happened upon a beautiful splash of color. I had no memory of this unnamed garden, which nestled against a copse of trees, and which was all the more beautiful set off against the gray day. As I was exploring the area with my camera, two women approached from the west. As chance would have it, one of them turned out to have been instrumental -- as a volunteer -- in the rehabilitation and development of this area. It had been a "pandemic project" of hers, a labor of love undertaken with the approval and, as time went on, material support of Park gardeners.
For me, this was a bright spot in the day's walk. It was literally a vibrant, bright spot, of course. But it also gladdened my heart to learn some story behind it. I was happy that the bureaucracy of a big city -- with its necessary but occasionally spirit-crushing rules and protocols -- could still bend just enough to allow one devoted person to see a need, bring some tools, and get to work.