The Japanese maple on my parents’ front stoop finally gave up the ghost after 18 loyal years. I’ve watched it grow since it was planted, so I can confirm—yes, it was a Japanese maple. My dad, who’s 85 and still up at dawn gardening like it’s his job, cut it down himself. But instead of leaving a plain stump, he carved a grumpy little face into it. I couldn’t stop laughing. It looked like the tree was annoyed about being retired. I’m seriously considering cross-posting it to the Things With Faces Facebook group—it’s peak cranky stump energy.
There’s something oddly touching about that face. It’s like my dad gave the tree a final personality, a farewell expression. Maybe it’s his way of honoring it, or maybe he just couldn’t resist adding a bit of humor to the yard. Either way, it’s now the most expressive stump I’ve ever seen. Neighbors have started noticing it too—some wave, some chuckle, and one kid even asked if it talks. I told him only when it’s really grumpy. It’s become a tiny landmark, a conversation starter, and a tribute to my dad’s quirky charm.
Watching my dad work in the yard is like witnessing a quiet symphony. He moves with purpose, even at 85, pruning, planting, and coaxing life from the soil. The maple was one of his favorites, and I think losing it hit him harder than he let on. The face might be his way of coping—a little grumble carved into wood. It’s funny how grief and humor can coexist like that. The stump isn’t just a leftover—it’s a character now, part of the family lore.
I’ve started taking photos of it in different lighting. Morning sun makes it look contemplative, while afternoon shadows give it a full-on scowl. I’m tempted to dress it up for holidays—maybe a Santa hat in December, bunny ears in April. It deserves a seasonal wardrobe. It’s earned its place as the yard’s resident curmudgeon. And every time I see it, I think of my dad—his hands in the dirt, his quiet resilience, and his ability to turn even a dead tree into something memorable.
People online sometimes question whether it was really a Japanese maple. I get it—tree identification can be tricky. But I’ve seen it grow from sapling to shade-giver, and I’m not about to argue with the man who planted it. If you’re still skeptical, take it up with my dad. He’ll be the one in the front yard at sunrise, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and talking to his tomatoes. He’s spry, stubborn, and absolutely sure of his trees. And honestly, I wouldn’t bet against him.
So here’s to the grumpy stump, the maple that lived a good life, and the dad who gave it a face. It’s a reminder that even endings can be funny, that nature has personality, and that love sometimes looks like a scowl carved into wood. If you’ve got a quirky yard story, I’d love to hear it. And if you’re ever in the neighborhood, stop by and say hello to the crankiest stump on the block.
