We have an ancient Catalpa tree in our back yard which likely predates our old house and certainly predates the Norway Spruces with whom it shares space. Every year my husband and I have a conversation about the Catalpa, about whether we should cut it down.
Patches of bark have fallen off, many of its branches are dead, and each season it produces fewer leaves. My husband is in favor of removing the tree, fearing it may fall on the neighbor’s house and I share his fear. But not enough to take action, not yet.
The old tree still provides valuable shade in the summer and offers a scratching post and happy perch for our cats. It seems to me that the Catalpa has earned its right to be here. I also feel a certain kinship with this fellow creature. I, too, am past my prime. Bark is falling off and branches dying. I am trying to not fall down and hurt anyone.
And I seek to provide some kind of service to justify my continuing presence. Not crowding out new growth with my shade, but offering shelter from heat and rain. Something to lean on.