Last fall we cut down a old, beautiful oak in our front yard. I won’t pretend I was happy about it, but I was less happy about the large branches that fell on our car during a storm. We still haven’t cleared the stump out of the yard, so we have a weird patch of ivy and monkey grass growing up out of the zoysia like a landscaper’s bad dream. We also have dozens of baby oak trees popping up from the squirrels’ forgotten winter caches. Eventually they will be tilled under with the remnants of the old flower bed, but right now they stretch towards the light and the rain, reminders of the green canopy that used to arch overhead.