On The Street Where I Live - 1

I was walking down the street the other day and noted that in the last few years, some neighbours have moved and gone. With the recent sales activities on our street, I wonder if I will still know who lives in which house and what makes each neighbour unique. And I wondered if the changing face of our street will change its flavour - that mix of working class and upwardly mobile, that blend of ghetto slum and gentrification, that stew of bustling nosiness and sterile hellos. So I decided to document what I know of my street.


Our little street has over 100 houses. It is the only tree-lined street in the neighbourhood. I mean truly tree-lined. The first time I walked on this street, I came to look at a house - our house. The house was okay. Most of the houses on the street are similarly built - small, three-bedroom, semi-detached, brick structures. Our house felt solid, it had potential, so we bought it. But it was the street of trees that captivated me.

The Canopy
It was Autumn 1988. As we drove towards the house, I noticed giant red maple trees flanking both sides of the street. The trees were all the same size, which meant they were planted around the same time. They framed the view out our car window with a canopy of orange and yellow leaves, as if channelling us down the avenue to our house. When we stopped in front of the house, I got out of the car and walked up and down the street, in awe of the tent of leaves waving above us.

The Arches
That first winter in our new home, we were hit with a giant snow storm. I woke up one morning to find white outside. The ground was all covered in white, the plants, bushes and trees were covered in white. From our front porch, the maple trees seemed to reach out into the middle of the street with their white branches, forming row upon rows of white arches over the road. I thought, this is what's meant by a winter wonderland. Since that winter, after every snow fall, I look for the white arches the way people look for a rainbow after it rains. I am always disappointed if the snow hadn't been heavy enough for the arches to form.