I remember, vaguely, when it was planted, the poor little thing. It was in summer, I am sure, one summer when I was younger and only happy that another tree was going in. I adore trees, big, shady trees with lots of green leaves–the kind that give shade, and you aren’t supposed to stand under in thunderstorms.

This little tree was no shade-giver; we had to be careful when we hung a bird feeder from one of its feeble branches. I could look out my window, right over the top. It was a pear tree, a dwarf pear, which grew small and, to my mind, pointless fruit. But it was truly pretty in spring, when it exploded with soft, frothy white blossoms which blew over the grass and powdered our front walk.

The tree grew, and though it grew I took little notice of it until recently, when I realized one day that this little tree that had been hardly noticeable had grown quite big, obscuring the view out my window completely. It now shades a good part of the lawn, and sports a much-contended hummingbird feeder.

It has become a useful tree, making its contribution to the natural world. In spring, those lovely blossoms feed the myriad of bumblebees that visit. In summer, birds sing from its branches. On warm nights, a single katydid sings with all his might from the top of the tree, serenading a potential mate. In fall, the tree is the last to turn its color, and begins with a deep red that blazes into yellow, a lone beacon when most other trees already stand bare. When it finally drops its leaves, those supposedly useless fruits remain. Their purpose? Of course they have one, as does everything else in nature. A very protective mockingbird has made them his breakfast for the past few winters, chasing off any other feathered beings that seem to be looking at his precious pears with a covetous eye.

I have made a habit in winter to pay close attention to what happens in this tree, for it seems to be very important. It is easy to spot a dozen species of bird a day gathered round it, for the seeds in the feeder as well as the shelter of its still-slender, yet much more numerous branches. In spite of thinking it not much of a tree when it was first planted, I have become quite fond of the pear tree outside my window, and look forward to the years of pleasure it will give me.