Tag: writing

Posted on

The Wabi-Sabi Legacy of Québec City’s Cannonball Tree

After roaming around the old Quebec city, my friend and I took a break on a bench in front of Château Frontenac. A sculpture that stood in the middle drew my attention. I had been in Qubec city for a couple of days. I spent a lot of time taking photos of the Château Frontenac and Place d’Armes public park. In the middle of the park is a Gothic fountain on which stands the Faith Monument (monument de la Foi) and this statue is next to the Faith Monument. Somehow, I had missed the statue until that moment. I decided to take a photo and try to find more information. I couldn’t find much in my quick Google search. But something about the sculpture seemed familiar, and I had a nagging feeling that I had seen it somewhere before.

After coming home, I was downloading the photos. I saw a picture of a sign. I had taken it in front of one of the old houses on rue St-Louis that morning. This was before I saw the sculpture. The sign had the photo of the sculpture. Since everything was in French, I didn’t understand what it was until I used Google Translate.

Story of Ball and the Chain Tree

Just beyond the grandeur of Château Frontenac, where cobblestones echo with centuries of footsteps, a tree once stood. It held a secret in its heart. Locals called it the Cannonball Tree—L’Arbre au Boulet. It was an American elm that had cradled a rusting iron sphere for over a century. Legend has it that the cannonball was a relic from the 1759 Battle of the Plains of Abraham. Truth or not, the story stuck, and so did the awe.

Time, as it always does, wore the tree down. Disease crept in. The roots weakened. And in 2021, the city bid farewell. But not with silence—with reverence.

The cannonball was carefully removed by the Canadian Armed Forces, and the tree’s trunk was preserved. Today, in front of Château Frontenac, a sculpture stands—crafted from the very wood that once held history in its bark. It’s not polished to perfection. The grain is rough, the form organic. It doesn’t try to erase the past—it honors it.

This is wabi-sabi in its purest form: the beauty of what remains after loss. A tree that once bore the weight of war now offers a place for reflection. Tourists pause, not just for photos, but for silence. For story. For the reminder that even in decay, there is dignity.

Québec City didn’t just lose a tree. It gained a monument to impermanence.

Posted on

Embracing Imperfection: The Story of Stumpy the Cherry Tree

In the heart of Washington, D.C., nestled along the Tidal Basin, stood a tree that looked more like a memory than a monument. Stumpy, as he came to be known, was a Yoshino cherry tree—gnarled, hollowed, and barely clinging to life.

Stumpy was one of thousands of Cherry trees gifted by Japan in 1912, a symbol of friendship. But over time, rising tides and sinking land turned the basin into a twice-daily flood zone. Stumpy, rooted too close to the seawall, endured years of waterlogging, sun-scalding, and fungal decay. By the time he captured the public’s imagination, he had only a few flowering branches left. His trunk was more air than wood. But oh, how he bloomed. During the pandemic, a photo of Stumpy appeared on Reddit. It had a caption comparing his condition to a love life gone awry. Something about that image—a tree so clearly broken, yet defiantly blossoming—resonated. People began to visit. They left flowers, poems, even bottles of whiskey. Stumpy became a folk hero, a symbol of resilience, and a quiet reminder that beauty doesn’t need perfection

In May 2024, Stumpy was removed to make way for seawall repairs. But his story didn’t end there—it evolved. Since 2024, Stumpy has been honored as the mascot of the Credit Union Cherry Blossom Ten Mile Run. I got to see Stumpy before he was removed and managed to snap a few photos of him in 2024 April before running the Cherry Blossom race. I also received a medal with Stumpy on it after finishing the race. Even though Stumpy is gone, his legacy lives on through his clones and his role as the official mascot.

Wabi-Sabi teaches us to embrace the imperfect, the transient, the quietly profound. Stumpy was all of that—and more. He didn’t stand tall or symmetrical. He stood anyway. And now, even in his absence, he leads the race.