One of the first things I did after moving from an apartment in Astoria, Queens, to our house in New Hyde Park 29 years ago was to plant a Japanese maple tree in the middle of our new backyard. I loved seeing it from the kitchen window because it was a special reminder that this was my home.

While I was very happy with the location where my tree was planted, the rest of my family was not happy with its prominent position in the garden.

For my husband, mowing the lawn in even lines was a hindrance. He didn’t appreciate having the “sameness” interrupted by something unexpected. The jagged strips of grass circling the trunk provide a unique asymmetry and variety to an otherwise predictable carpet of green. Dandelions, sane enough to grow in the tree’s shade, evade the hungry blades of the lawnmower and provide a cheerful splash of yellow.

My kids saw the tree as an obstacle to the free flow of movement on the field. They told their friends exactly who was responsible for this obstacle and “trashed the yard” as part of the opening ceremony of each playdate. Once these formalities were done, however, everyone had fun solving “the tree problem” and finding new ways to play old games.

Even my neighbor across the fence chimed in, noting that the first thing city dwellers like us do when they move to the suburbs is plant trees, and they do so “haphazardly.” He explained his hostility by saying that he had worked as a telephone lineman among tangles of branches on overhead power lines, a job he was happy to give up to enjoy the flat land of his own backyard.

While the squirrels preferred taller trees and largely ignored my beautiful maple, I had an ally in the birds. They appreciated the Goldilocks vantage point it offered them – not too high, not too low. They could watch my dog ​​Piper sunning herself on the patio while they stayed safe and would fly off at the first sign that she might get up and fly to the grass.

I admit that every time I look at my tree I feel a sense of achievement, even a sense of victory. I have resisted requests to replant it along the fence or remove it altogether, and have always remained steadfast in my vision for the garden. My tree is in the perfect spot, and I am richly rewarded for my dedication. In winter, the low sun shines through the icicles on its bare branches. In spring, the lush leaves promise cooling shade for the summer months and last well into fall. It is constantly changing, but always comfortably familiar.

Over the years, my tree has grown taller and wider. Its beautiful scarlet leaves delight me every time I look out my kitchen window. Its new leaves remain my favorite sign of spring.

If you’re looking for a little bit of happiness, find a tree to fall in love with. It can be in a park, on a sidewalk, in a garden, out the car window while you’re running errands – anywhere. Celebrate it, share it, and defend it from those who may not have found a tree of their own yet.

Reader Lisa Castillo lives in New Hyde Park.