“I was planted in 1939, a lanky needle-toothed sapling marking 150 years since the U.S. Constitution was inked into being, my roots sunk deep into the southern edge of Wright Park where Sixth Avenue and South I Street meet in a wind-brushed handshake of city and sanctuary,” remembers the giant sequoia. “I was barely more than a breath above the lawn when the world rumbled to war. Streetcars still clattered past me in those days, their bell clangs slicing through a city about to trade its rhythm of leisurely strolls and Saturday dances for war bonds, blackout curtains, and the stiff-legged march of ration lines. I watched mothers become welders and children practice duck-and-cover under my arms before they even knew my name. Victory gardens bloomed on porches just past my canopy. Soldiers kissed goodbye at the park gates I stood beside. I did not yet tower. But even then, I was learning how to hold memory in bark.”

“When the giant sequoia was discovered by European settlers, there were many disputes about the name that would be given to the tree, including Washingtonia gigantea, Taxodium washingtonium, Sequoia wellingtonia, and Sequoia washingtoniana, showcasing the competitive ‘who-named-it-first’ nature of European taxonomy,” says Eden Standley, Tacoma Tree Foundation outreach specialist and lifelong Tacoman, passionate about uplifting and empowering the city’s diverse community. “One of the original Indigenous names given to the tree by the peoples who inhabited the Yosemite Valley was Wawona, which is an onomatopoeia—or a word that names a sound—representing the hoot of an owl, believed to be the guardian spirit of the sequoia trees.”

Peaks & Pints first partnered with the Tacoma Tree Foundation in the fall of 2019, pairing our then-house beer, Kulshan Brewing Tree-Dimensional IPA, with TTF-selected trees around Tacoma. For the 2024–25 season, we brewed our eighth house IPA at Loowit Brewing in downtown Vancouver. Since the brewery is named after Mount St. Helens—whose eruption silenced entire forests—we called it Silent Trees IPA and once again teamed up with the TTF to amplify the stories of their favorite Tacoma trees.

TTF doesn’t just plant trees—they conspire with chlorophyll, orchestrating quiet revolutions in shade and oxygen, one rootball at a time, until entire neighborhoods exhale a little easier. They sent us to Wright Park for the final time to meet the giant sequoia near South I Street and Sixth Avenue. With Lumberbeard Brewing’s Cut-Off Flannel IPA now taking the house beer mantle, this is the last conversation we’ll have with Tacoma’s trees—at least the beer-endorsed kind.

“By the 1950s, I had grown tall enough to shade a full family picnic—and I did, often,” says the sequoia, stretching upward with quiet pride. “The war was over, the soldiers had come home, and Tacoma exhaled. The city that once marched grew quieter, softer, thick with baby carriages, milkmen, transistor radios, and Sundays that smelled like Brylcreem and baked ham.

“I watched mothers in cat-eye sunglasses hold hands with toddlers scattering breadcrumbs for pigeons. Fathers read the Fort Lewis Ranger newspaper beneath my branches, while teens lingered nearby, passing soda bottles and secrets. Sixth Avenue buzzed—Studebakers and streetcars giving way to Buicks and bikes. The park became a civic hearth, a green pause button amid the hum of modern life.”

The Park That Grew Taller Than Tacoma’s Plans for It

Whispered into being in 1886 by Charles B. Wright, a railroad baron with a philanthropic streak and an eye for green space, the park began with a single condition: plant trees—lots of them—and let the people breathe. Landscape alchemist Edward Otto Schwagerl accepted the challenge, sculpting old timberland into a winding cathedral of lawns, trails, and botanical awe. Over the next century, Wright Park unfurled like a canopy in slow motion—expanding to 27 acres, sheltering more than 600 trees from over 145 species, each a passport inked with the poetry of place.

At its heart rose the W.W. Seymour Conservatory, a Victorian glass temple of chlorophyll and contemplation. Today, Wright Park is no relic—it’s a pulse. A civic greenhouse of memory and motion where past and present brush shoulders beneath the branches, and every corner hums with stories and the deep-rooted murmur of time itself.

“By the time bell-bottoms bloomed and transistor radios buzzed with Bowie and Stevie Wonder,” murmurs the sequoia, “I could see across rooftops and into the soul of the city. Tacoma had begun to spiral into something stranger, louder, more electric.”

“In the ’70s, the park softened—less formality, more frisbees. Fewer parasols, more potlucks. Kids scaled my roots like explorers. Lovers carved initials into the picnic benches and swore they’d never leave. I never told them I’ve heard that vow a thousand times.”

“The Conservatory windows cracked—just a little—but the dahlias still bloomed. The sprayground arrived. Joggers multiplied. Streetcars had vanished, but their ghost tracks still hummed beneath the pavement when the rain hit just right.”

“In the 1980s, I felt the city’s growing pains—urban edges fraying, downtown losing some of its shine. But I stood steady. I watched Metro Parks crews trim limbs and mow half-hearted circles. Teens in Walkmans whispered secrets I promised not to repeat.”

“Through disco, punk, and Reaganomics, I held my silence. But not my breath. I inhaled it all—exhaust, laughter, grief, pollen—and turned it into rings no one sees but me.”

Sequoia | Miwok name: Wawona | Sequoiadendron giganteum

“Giant sequoias hold the record for being the largest trees on Earth, and are among the longest-living beings,” continues Standley. “They’re identifiable from a distance by their tall pyramidal shape and cord-like branches, with bark that resembles an impressionist painting. Up close, their leaves resemble evergreen needles made of hundreds of tiny scales, and their bark is red, fibrous, and deeply furrowed.”

“Because of their grandeur, some early settlers cut down giant sequoias to display at world fairs and tourist exhibitions. Sequoias are a complex symbol of the American frontier and the consequences of expansion and ambition. They’ve become endangered in their native habitat, which today is limited to a small stretch of California’s western Sierra Nevada.”

“But these trees also symbolize environmental activism—the fight to protect them led to the creation of Yosemite and Sequoia National Parks. As a pioneer species, they’re the first to take root in barren environments, especially after wildfire. In fact, they need frequent, low-intensity fires to maintain space for seedlings and sunlight, and to keep fire-sensitive species in check. The National Park Service conducts controlled burns in sequoia groves to support this cycle.”

The giant sequoia watches modern-day Tacoma

“In 2011, something beautiful rose beneath my watch,” rumbles the giant sequoia, its bark brushed with memory. “Where laughter once echoed thinly, it returned louder, purer—rebuilt not just in metal and mulch, but in meaning. They said her name was Zina. A child taken. A city shaken. And in her name, the community gathered—not in silence, but in color and water and play.”

“I saw the playground and sprayground bloom like spring after grief. I watched Hilltop students share their ideas, watched neighbors raise funds and hope. By the time the water jets danced and the slides gleamed, I had shaded hundreds of days of healing. And when the columns began to fail years later, I watched the city rise again—replacing wood with recycled strength, the way we do when something matters too much to lose.”

“Not all memory is solemn. Some of it splashes. Some of it swings. Some of it whispers to the trees, ‘We are still here. And we still play.’”

Loowit Brewing Silent Trees IPA

Check out the giant sequoia on Wright Park’s west side, then stroll (or skip) over to Tacoma’s Proctor District for a pint or Campfire Crowler of the final pour of Loowit Silent Trees IPA (6.6%) at Peaks & Pints. Loowit Brewing in Vancouver, Washington, brewed our 2024–25 house beer, a reverent nod to old-school piney IPAs and the tree-shaped souls who walk among us.

Brewed with Simcoe, Columbus, and Chinook hops, Silent Trees IPA conjures the nostalgic hush of forest floor and the citrus flicker of trail snacks shared at elevation. It’s the ideal pint to raise in tribute to the trees we pass, the ones that shade us, the ones that remember.

This is the last day it flows from our Western red cedar tap log.

Final Word

“If you have a dog, you may have seen the three giant sequoias planted at the back of Rodger’s dog park in the McKinley neighborhood,” adds Standley. “This is another great spot to get up close and personal with a mature sequoia in Tacoma.”

LINK: Loowit Silent Trees IPA inspires Tacoma Tree stories

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: Kwanzan Cherry Tree Speaks on North Eighth

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: Tulip Tree Speaks at Wright Park

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: Paper Birches Speak at Rosa Franklin Park

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: Pacific madrone in Point Defiance Park

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: 1910 Bigleaf Maple in North Tacoma

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: Breaking Silence near the Rhododendron Garden

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: Breaking Silence at Swan Creek Park

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: Breaking Silence Near People’s Park

LINK: Tacoma Silent Trees: Breaking Silence at Oak Tree Park

LINK: Kulshan brews Peaks and Pints Tree-dimensional IPA

LINK: Peaks & Pints beer and cider cooler inventory