Most of what seems magical evokes a childhood memory, like catching snowflakes on the tongue or my first shooting star, but the sight of cherry petals snowing from the trees is adult magic for me, delivered to me at my doorstep. When I moved to this block in Ballard 19 years ago we were part of a wave of new families; younger couples buying on a traditional, family block. Many of the neighbors had raised their own families here and still hosted their grandchildren. Couples like the Nelsons; he fussed over how I parked my car and Mrs. Nelson still wore an apron that tied at the waist.

We moved onto the street in early July; it wasn't until the next spring that the house and block opened themselves to us like fireworks over Lake Union. Cherry trees in front of the house, a magnolia down the street, rhododendrons in front and back, each blooming in a different color while the azaleas sizzled pink beneath them. When the petals began to rain from the trees and then skitter down the sidewalk I was entranced. I didn't grow up along the Potomac; I had never seen petals fall before, just acorns and oak leaves.

Another older couple lived quietly in a small trim yellow house on the other side of the street. Their front lawn was deliberately set with plastic jugs of water, carefully moved and replaced when the gentleman mowed. The only explanation seemed to be an attempt to scare away dogs with their own reflection, if the water jugs had been made of glass instead of plastic. One by one the houses along the street changed hands; original owners disappeared, in this case - first the woman, then the man, then the jugs.

The oldest homes are stately but interspersed now with the architectural hodgepodge that is so Ballard, varying from bric-a-brac trim to stucco, from clay roof tiles to sheets of tin, from Craftsman to laboriously self-built; filling the in-between spaces like mixed-up game pieces. In domino fashion we newcomers repainted, had babies, then worked our way slowly through remodeling projects to landscaping. The first crop of babies arrived in the spring; the trees usually arrived in the fall. The previous generation had worked to manicure their lawns and cleared the lots, with the help of Groundswell Northwest's Re-Tree Ballard; we restore trees to their neighborhoods.

A small quiet couple bought the trim house where the water jugs once sat. They commuted silently to work and were not seen much, although the yard stayed neat. Unlike many of the neighbors who used a glimpse of one another as an excuse to drop the rake and socialize, they kept to themselves, almost invisible, until the week the city trees arrived.

When the trees were dropped along the street they all looked nearly alike, no matter their species. Two to three foot-long sticks, with roots knotted in burlap. Most of us waited for a sunny day to dig a minimal hole and begin our tree abuse, but not the quiet couple. On the very first Saturday, a miserable day in November, they rented a giant tilling tool that ground into the dirt like blades of a helicopter. They bored down to bedrock while the rest of watched from the inside - certain there would be bloodshed

If the new trees started alike, the babies pretty much did too. Likewise the block would go semi-dormant in the winter and then reemerge in the spring with new neighbors, the young trees showing their first branches, the babies now toddling, the petals of the original trees covering our sidewalks.

Those older trees are mostly gone now, lost to time and above ground electrical lines. But this year the new crop, the ones we planted seven or eight years ago, are full enough to block the rain, to scatter their petals in the breeze. This morning I noticed the trees in front of the little house were snowing gently onto the ground. The shy couple has since moved but they left a legacy of deep roots and wide branches. All along the block there's a new crop of young children, eight children under age five, even as our batch turns sixteen and wants to start driving. Just two original owners remain and we "newcomers" are the old-timers holding out against so much change. Most of us didn't know we'd stay this long - it was our first house, our first marriage, our first child - but in the meantime Re-Tree Ballard has succeeded. The giant magnolia tree touches branches with the younger cherry trees and vine maples. When we weren't paying attention our children grew taller than us. Luckily there's a new crop of little people outside, trying to scoop up the petals with toy bulldozers - as though trying to hold water in their small, strong hands.

Peggy's email is atlargeinballard@yahoo.com. She writes additional pieces on her blog At Large in Ballard at http://www.seattlepi.com.