TELL ME ABOUT THE SEQUOIAS

The world’s biggest tree is named General Sherman, and the second-biggest tree is named General Grant. Both trees live in Sequoia National Forest, where their roots lie a surprisingly short distance beneath the soil (only 6-12 feet to anchor these titans!) but make up for it in breadth. Some of the roots travel 100 feet outward from the base of the tree, grasping onto the subterranean tendrils of neighbors like kids holding hands under the lunch table. No one talks much about General Grant, the salutatorian of the grove. General Sherman has an eponymous trail, his own protective fence, and a queuing system for photo ops. If I had to be a tree, I’d rather be General Grant. He’s extraordinary, but he still gets to have a normal life. He has no casual fans, only dedicated ones who truly understand the vision. He’s the tree version of Carly Rae Jepsen.

The problem with Sequoia National Forest (yes, I’m Yelp-reviewing this sacred woodland cathedral) is that once you enter the whimsically named Giant Forest, all the trees are huge and you lose all sense of scale. Once you come upon General Grant and further along, General Sherman, your brain has decided that all trees are 300 feet tall and 80 feet around, so it’s hard to be as awestruck as you obviously should be. It’s like how if you saw Zachary Quinto at Crumbl Cookies you’d probably get excited and text a friend omg Spock at crumbl. Maybe you’d even take a stealth pic disguised as a selfie. But if you saw Zachary Quinto at Beyoncé’s Oscars after party, you might look past him. Too much competition, a veritable Giant Forest of celebrities.

The solution, I think, is to uproot General Sherman and transport him from the grove to the Grove. Yes, I am referring to the outdoor mall in Los Angeles where I spent many of the earliest days of my career because I was staying in a hotel across the street and didn’t know any better. I propose they bring General Sherman to the Grove, transplant him somewhere in the vicinity of the fountain and re-route the trolley tracks so tourists can circle the General and admire his girth. Maybe they could even add some fiber optics to his canopy for an nightly light show! Influencer catnip! Of course it would be very hazardous to the tree, and if the General managed to survive transplantation, he’d grope for the root of a fellow sequoia only to find a concrete footer beneath Nordstrom. But still. In this setting, General Sherman would look truly massive. He would dwarf the Christmas tree they truck in from Mount Shasta every year, itself a casualty. People would finally appreciate how HUGE and SPECIAL General Sherman is!

I should move back to my hometown.

Anyway, we all drove up to the forest a couple of weeks ago. It was a mini- vacation marked by daily dips in the Kaweah River, scoops of blackberry ice cream, and evening gatherings to watch horror movies. (We watched Child’s Play one night— did you know Jessica Walter originally voiced Chucky? Yes, Lucille Bluth from Arrested Development!) We hiked along Tokopah Falls*, an area so stunning it looked like a Bavarian fairy tale, and of course, we took photos with General Sherman, lining up like radio contest winners at a backstage meet-and-greet. (I don’t think natural landmarks were like that before social media, but I’m okay with it, I like people, I don’t blame anyone for rooting or reaching or trying to be a taller tree.)

It was rare, I was there

*I did cry near the end of this hike Trip Advisor called “easy,” because it was very hot and not easy for me, and I need a CamelBak of Diet Coke with pebble ice in order to really enjoy myself in nature, and Rocco and I saw a fucking snake on the trail and both stood there screaming at it, and we later found out it’s a very shy and reclusive type of snake that is typically nocturnal and rarely reveals itself to people. The snake probably was like, “you know what, today I’m going to go out!” and we ruined it. I’m sorry, snake!