One year ago today we launched Tree of the Week and asked Toronto Star readers to tell us about the big, beautiful and meaningful trees in their lives.

Since that first story, we’ve received hundreds of emails, dozens of phone calls and many heartfelt handwritten letters about a beloved or remarkable tree.

Many of these stories feature a tree close to someone’s home, maybe a backyard maple or a white oak in a front garden that is loved like family.

Some stories describe neighbourhood trees that serve as landmarks or gathering places, while others pay tribute to trees that grow in the parks, school yards and public spaces of the city. A few express gratitude to the towering trees that stand sentinel on family farms.

The stories celebrate not only the beauty and resilience of trees, but also reveal how trees forge connections — within a community, between family and across generations.

As we mark the one-year anniversary of the much-loved series, we want to say thank you for following along and sharing your own tree stories.

Now that we’re heading into the colder winter months, the feature will appear monthly. Meanwhile, here is a look back at some highlights from Tree of the Week.

First tree: Julie Hagan of Scarborough kicked off the series, telling us about the massive northern red oak that grows on the front lawn of her home on Avalon Blvd. One year later, she writes again to say: “The Avalon Oak still watches over our street, a few less branches from windstorms but still majestic. As I read the series over the past year, it has been a joy to see how loved and cherished our neighbourhood trees are. Spring, summer, fall and winter, these trees keep us grounded and in touch with the beauty of nature.”

Biggest tree: This crack willow on Ward’s Island, a well-known landmark for Island residents and visitors, is the biggest of the trees profiled so far in Tree of the Week, with a trunk circumference of 6.7 m or 22 feet (we believe it’s the biggest; not every contributor measured their tree). Catherine Broatman, who first told us about the tree in January, greets the willow every Sunday on her walk from the Ward’s Island ferry docks to St. Andrew by-the-Lake Anglican Church. “A friend who lives in Spain visited me this summer and one thing he remarked on is that Toronto is a city of trees. The Tree of the Week series certainly shows that to be true, and it also gives us the habit of pausing in our busy city lives to admire, reflect on — and sometimes even talk to — our trees.”

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Youngest contributor: In April, 12-year-old Luca Assad wrote about her family’s “astonishingly beautiful” silver maple tree that grows on their Scarborough front lawn. She told us the tree is between 150 and 175 years old and that it “hasn’t just seen Canada grow up, but also me and my three siblings.” Now 13, Luca writes that in the days after her tree story was published she was surprised and happy to see “how so many of our neighbours recognized me and our tree. It was also great to hear how excited they were and hear what the tree meant to them.”

Oldest contributor: A half dozen Star readers in their 80s wrote to tell us about a much-loved tree. But at 92, Alan Craig is the oldest contributor to the series, and his October story about an enormous weeping willow within walking distance of his Brampton retirement residence is among the series’ most-read stories. Thousands of people enjoyed his reflections on his daily walks with his beloved wife, Grace, and the importance of sharing the big and beautiful things in life, including an ancient willow that he calls “a warty old thing with real character.” After his tree story was published, the Craigs became famous in their retirement residence. “Everybody talks about it,” Alan said. “And it seems that many more people are aware of that willow than ever mentioned it before.”

A childhood connection: Rose Pallotta has long admired the magnificent copper beech tree that grows near the Mausoleum of the Sacred Souls in Toronto’s Prospect Cemetery. She told us about the tree in March, when its long, bare limbs were covered in snow, and wrote that she visits it often as the cemetery is the “final resting place for many friends and family members.” For Joan Priestman, an 85-year-old Star reader, this tree story brought back memories of her childhood in Earlscourt and her love for the copper beech. “I grew up on a street on the west side of Prospect Cemetery, and my grandparents lived on the east side. The cemetery was a wonderful place to go for walks or play. I know this copper beech well because my friends and I played in that tree. We loved it. It was fun to just sit on the branches and rest — that is, if you didn’t get caught.”

A tree named Matthew: Former elementary school teacher Roma Zyla told us about her favourite tree — a Norway maple — that still grows outside the Etobicoke school where she used to teach in the late 1980s. At the time, students and teachers called this tree Matthew and he was an integral part of the school community; students wrote journal entries addressed to Matthew, they hugged him at Thanksgiving and, in the autumn, made beautiful art from his leaves. After the story was published, Roma wrote to tell us that she heard from a former student who said she cried when she read the tribute to “Matthew Maple” and that “she will include the newspaper story in her baby boy’s memory box.” The Star also heard from a current teacher at Sunnylea Junior School who said students still like to learn outside in the shade of the Norway maple, which has more recently been known as “Joe.”

A father’s memories: Craig Henshaw has loved an old, big and now famous white oak tree that grows in Oakville since childhood. In May, he wrote a beautiful story of being a 12-year-old boy in 1982 and his “one perfect summer” spent playing with his friends and the white oak. The centuries-old tree is well-known in Oakville; it made headlines in the early 2000s, first for being in danger of getting cut down to widen Bronte Rd. and again after the community rallied to save the tree. For Craig, the best part of his tree story is that it prompted his father to share memories of his own childhood. “I wasn’t the first Henshaw to stand in awe of nature as a young boy: 30 years before — around 1948 — my father had spent his own summer afternoon swinging from the drooping branches of a weeping willow, catching frogs in the creek and climbing the long branches that extended right out over the water. My boy-father, one particularly courageous day, climbed as far out as he could on the tree’s longest branch, taking his hunting knife out of his pocket and carving his initials into the tree as proof of his adventure. He climbed down to the adoration of his friends — but in bed that night realized that he’d left his knife stuck right into the branch. Fearing the wrath of my grandparents for losing his knife, he crept out into the night, ran to the tree in the light of the moon and, alone, in the dark, with only the gurgle of the creek below him to break the silence, he climbed that branch all over again. Just a boy, his terror, the moon and the water; a night he’ll never forget.”

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