At Lady Bird Johnson Grove, for example, the site of park-dedication ceremonies in 1969, I found a redwood wonderland, cool and silent, sheltered and mysterious. The trees tend to shrink people down into their philosophical shells. That was the attitude of 19th century scientists who wanted to preserve the most spectacular big trees just to demonstrate the sort of things humans had to overcome. Others might look at the trees, glimpse their own mortality and wonder how redwoods could have hung on for so many hundreds of years and still kept their looks. One secret might be tannin.
Redwoods have a lot of it.
The thick bark resists fire. Redwood seeds, although no larger than the seeds in a tomato, sprout rather easily in the rich alluvial soil of stream flats, and the young shoots don't mind the shade. When a neighboring old-timer finally succumbs to the inevitable and falls down, allowing a little sunlight in, the youngsters grow up in big spurts. There are plenty of other groves to see. Some appear conveniently in the frame formed by an Oldsmobile windshield.