This is about a tree that grows opposite our new condo on Sheffield:
The tree is waving its notice-me branches with all its leaves frantically waving, giggly, shimmy-shaking in the morning winds.
I think this brazen display is a ruse, a desperate attempt by a 45-foot tree to distract attention from its trunk, a sorry sight if freshness is your forte. It’s a glum-trunked tree. However, it is the tallest tree on two blocks running south of Belmont on Sheffield Avenue.
Unless it can grow 10 feet higher, it can’t aspire to lush roundness at its crown. It’s squished with a brick building on its east and busy street on its west. I don’t know how long it has been branching only north-south but its football shape is impressive and tenacious.
In Elmhurst where I grew up, trees were free to arch, spread wide and whisper as one corridor of green along streets with names like Sunnyside and Fair View. Dutch Elm disease thinned the herd during the 1960s but enough remain so the town name is no embarassment. Elmhurst’s Elms are content and restful. Our Sheffield tree is an independent with some substantial swiggle left in her old trunk.