We live on a long, winding street, where every single house has a large Bradford Pear tree planted in the front yard. This time of year, the trees are still full, green and gorgeous. As of last week, there is an exception. One house is graced with a balding, misshapen Charlie Brown tree on the front lawn. The pitiful, misshapen tree I refer to is in front of my house.

Even before last week, my tree was an outlier with multiple thick, gnarled, dead branches shooting from the top. It had its challenges with the weird branches, but it was an anomaly, not a monstrosity. It may have drawn the attention of my neighbors, but not their ire. After all, it still fit in with the other Bradford Pear trees lining the street.

My next door neighbors were having lots of work done to their yard last week: pruning, new beds, the works. It occurred to me, as I watched my neighbor’s yard be transformed, that our yard would be much improved if we fixed our weird tree. The minute the thought crossed my mind, I did something I never do. I took immediate action. I walked over to the two landscapers and struck a deal for them to refresh our tree. By the end of day, the dead branches were gone and our tree was given an unattractive, but new lease on life. 

In my heart, I don’t think a tree can be ugly. My philosophy is that every live tree, has value. Even if it doesn’t fit in with the neighbors’ perfect trees. Not everyone agrees with me; it turns out that a few neighbors, my husband, best friend and my offspring agree with the *tree bigots. They think our wounded tree should go, and be replaced with a healthy one that won’t disturb the reassuring perfection of the tree line on our street.

I’m right on this one. My tree does what it’s supposed to do; it helps purify the air, houses millions of insects and produces oxygen. It may have 50% fewer leaves, but they are beautiful green in summer and hopefully, gorgeous red in the fall.

Some days, I feel a little uncomfortable when I drive up to the house and am hit in the face with the thought that our tree probably says something negative about us, but I push past those feelings. I’m committed to that tree. I won’t remove it, just because other people think it doesn’t fit in. I’ve decided to that my family, neighbors and the HOA must learn to live with my sad tree. They can continue to take pride in the perfection of the other yards and let my tree be.

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