This tree. Hoo boy. It is glorious and stately and aged but healthy. Nonetheless, I spent the weekend running back and forth to the park to check on it. It is at least 200 years old — a remnant of the farm that once existed where a suburb now blithely occupies.

We had a fairly crippling ice storm in the Toronto area this weekend, you see. Ice accumulated on everything for about 36 hours. Ice thicker than your thumb! Smaller trees along my street crumpled under it’s weight. At 12:30 am, my son and I walked around the neighbourhood in awe. The trees were moaning and crackling: a fearsome, lonely sound. As we walked past, a neighbour’s tree groaned, shuddered, and crashed to the ground — a mightier thing I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed.

We woke Sunday morning to thick sheets of ice blanketing our lawns, trees, cars, even a sheet of ice down one side of the house. I am grateful that we have heat and power, that no one was hurt, and that there was no tremendous property damage. But I still mourn the altered landscape of my small section of town, with more than 50% of trees down at last reckoning.

I am grateful that the stalwart pictured here still stands watch.