Plant Nursery, Visitors, Tennessee Valley Trail

My intense suntan informs me that this post is only photos.

Enjoy.

The grass seed is pure in the Presidio Native Plant Nursery.

Microscopes.

Little hothouses.

Wheel barrows.

Sea star, dying on the pier.

C. and his car parked on a comical grade.

Looking down at Chinatown and the bay.

Massive wheels guiding cable car cables under the street near the Cable Car Museum.

The motors drive the wheels which drive the cables which drive the cable cars.

Cables.

Old fare box.

Quong Ming Buddhism and Taoism Center.

Yellow bug at the end of an alley.

A man excited about his new toupee.

Greens.

Patriotically colored crabs.

Sacks of fish heads! Get your sacks of fish heads here!

Corpses.

Bundles of medicinal twigs.

People waiting to cross the street.

A full outfit drying in the sun.

Subtle color scheme.

The clearest day yet from Twin Peaks offers a crisp view of downtown.

The Golden Gate Bridge.

C. and M.

Camo camper in the Mission.

Mural.

Bizarre man strutting in a blue suit and selling something in little cases.

The church at Mission Dolores was watching me.

Afternoon light.

Inside the mission, one of the oldest rooms in town.

Diorama of when there was nothing but the Spanish mission in the area.

Miniature livestock.

A sculpture in the cemetery.

An apple tree was littering delicious-looking apples on the graves.

Reconstruction of the homes the indigenous tribe was kicked out of.

Purple flowers.

Tombstone.

Jason clears out his garage.

Many broken windows near Hunter’s Point.

Pounding waves at Baker Beach don’t seem to intimidate the short boarders.

A man and his parrot go on a beach stroll.

Bunker.

Trail.

Webs.

The horse area at the parking lot of the Tennessee Valley Trail.

Gopher.

The highlight of the day: seeing a bobcat.

Sign and diverging trail.

Contrasty grass.

Yurt.

The high road and the low road.

Wavy marsh grasses.

Fence.

A little sliver of ocean marks the end of the Tennessee Valley Trail.

Rocks.

Looking back at the pond and valley.

The hill to my right with a bunker on top and a long gash cut by runoff.

The bunker.

Looking down at the beach from the bunker.

Graffiti.

More.

Deadly drop and beautiful water.

The shade.

U2.

“Yes, you may pat my head,” said the horse.

Did I always have this mole?