There is a very large Red Bud tree in the centre of our front lawn.
For a week or so in May, it blossoms tiny little pink flowers.
It has become something of a landmark on our street; people stop and stare, smell the flowers to see if there is a scent, and sometimes even take a photo or two.
Passerby often comment on it; it has become the pride of the neighbourhood.
It was there when we moved into this house ten years ago, and continues to spread and grow.
It has reached out over the driveway now, shading my car, and also most of the lawn too, giving shade to the grass.
Last year, an ice storm damaged one of its larger limbs, cracking it away from the trunk.
We called a tree company which suggested securing it back to the tree with three bolts.
Instead, we cut off the limb close to the main trunk.
A large circle remains where the limb was amputated.
I am not sure what the future holds for that tree; some young sucker/saplings have started sprouting around the base.
Some tiny new branches with leaves have started sprouting amongst the older, sparser limbs up high.
My thoughts are that the cutting of that large limb will have saved energy and will be given instead towards the rest of the surviving tree.
I hope that will be the case.
The last house where I lived had what I called the "Stalwart Pine".
A tree that towered above the rest of the forest, it seemingly looked over our house and offered some sort of protection.
It is still standing today, a good decade after we left it.
Other trees on that lot are still there - many are not.
One I nicknamed "Gitchimanitou" , a gnarled, misshapen pine tree, mangled and twisted as it tried to reach the sunshine through the rest of the forest. It still stands off to the side, watching and guarding the property too.
Two large maple trees in the front yard were felled by the subsequent owners after us for fear they would topple onto the house.
A shame as they, too, seemed to protect the property.
One tree that was cut to make way for the house when it was being constructed actually landed in the arms of its friends and family in the forest. They softened its landing; helped it to not crash onto the forest floor. It was remarkable to watch as it seemed to choose its own direction down.
Along the way there have been other important trees.
The first tree that I remember was an oak tree that was grown from an acorn that my father brought back from England during our trip there in 1971.
It grew into a sapling on our property in Oakville at the time.
My father named it "Sharoncombe", as a tribute to the town of Batcombe where he found the acorn.
When we moved in 1975, that sapling was transplanted into a cemetery in Oakville, where my father had pre-purchased a plot for his gravesite.
Over the next 50+ years, it grew and grew, overlooking a beautiful pond and bridge and the parkland of the cemetery.
Somewhere along the way it became diseased, and was not looking very healthy the last time we went there on our annual visit to clean up the gravesite, a peaceful spot by a bridge and a pond.
When my dad passed away in the summer of 2021 at the age of 90, he was buried in his plot.
However, that aged oak tree was no longer there to watch over him.
At the graveside service, it was conspicuously absent.
Ironically, coincidentally, tragically, it had been taken down by the cemetery maintenance crew a few weeks before as it had become so diseased it was at risk of collapsing and falling over.
So, all those years of hoping it would look over him when he was buried there, were not to come to fruition.
The tree was gone when he came to be interred at the site.
All of this to say, that trees come and go from our lives.
I believe they are part of our story for a time; but then they must go, as we must do too.
And as for that Red Bud currently in our front yard, majestically watching over the lawn and garden, I don't know how much longer it will be with us.
I have now noticed there are several saplings from its seeds growing around our property in our front yard and back garden.
It has decided, perhaps, that it should leave a legacy, maybe sensing its own mortality.
But I hope that when it decides to go, it will be a graceful descent, and it will know that it was loved and cherished for all the years it made its home right where it did, in front of our house.