“We wanted to cut down two trees to build two homes. The city was not pleased”
Robert Wilson and his family thought bringing gentle density to Etobicoke would be an easy sell. They were wrong
In 2018, my wife and our one-year-old son were living in a Leslieville semi near Queen and Jones. Then we found out we were going to have twins and knew we needed more space. We turned our sights to the Sunnylea district in Etobicoke, right by the Humber River. For $1.4 million, we bought the biggest, ugliest lot in the neighbourhood: a tired detached near Prince Edward Drive and Berry Road that we affectionately called the Old Farmhouse.
It was in rough shape, filled with asbestos, splintered floorboards, broken windows and obsolete knob wiring. Both bathrooms and the kitchen also had to be redone. Because we had two babies and a toddler, we needed to deal with it fast. An old contractor friend said we had two options: completely gut and renovate a farmhouse we didn’t love to begin with or split the lot into two separate homes and sell one as an income property. We chose option number two.
We collected all the necessary paperwork to create two lots. We were confident that the city would approve our plan, so we shot our shot. Little did we know how many headaches and delays were ahead.
Related: “We traded our semi on Danforth for 50 acres of enchanted forest. Now we have to move back”
As soon as city hall’s urban forestry division received our application, they denied it due to two trees that stood outside the house on municipal property along the sidewalk. They were Norway maples, an invasive species known for its ability to grow very tall, very fast, disproportionately gobbling up nourishment that should go to its native counterparts.
More importantly, these trees were dangerous. In July of 2019, a giant limb fell off one of them, ripping down power lines and blocking the street, which is on a bus route. This left the tree unbalanced, but the city decided it wasn’t a concern. For the next three years, we would get nervous seeing our kids playing outside.
Then, on a hot and windy day in May of 2022, another huge limb from the same tree came down. It barely missed a cyclist (thank god), caused yet another bus detour and ripped the electrical box right off our house. We figured this second incident would prove to the city that both maples needed to be removed. The second tree was the same age and size—cracked up and down, bleeding sap. Couldn’t this tree be a risk too? Alas, no, according to the city’s arborist, who was sure that it was “maintainable.” To this day, that assessment remains a mystery to me.
We hired our own arborist in the fall of 2022. He agreed that the trees in question should be cut down. So it was one arborist’s word against another’s, and our family’s future was on the line. If we couldn’t get the city on our side, the more than six figures we’d spent so far (much of it borrowed) to make the home livable, plus the cost of conducting site surveys and hiring our arborist, would be down the toilet.
We must have called the urban forestry department a dozen times over the next few months, begging them to see reason. We formally appealed about three or four times, always including our arborist’s take. To us, it felt like the city was acting outside of official policy. But the worst part was the waiting. There seemed to be no incentive from the city to hurry the process. Our calls went unanswered, and we could see, through email correspondence, the lack of communication between departments.
Then, finally, we had a breakthrough. Two staffers from Councillor Amber Morley’s team came to inspect the trees in January of 2023. They deemed them a liability and said they had to go. Still, our newfound allies weren’t arborists, so we needed more evidence.
It all came down to an Etobicoke Community Council meeting later that month. I made a passionate presentation. When it was the urban forestry department’s turn, they remained adamant that the maples shouldn’t be removed. Then Councillor Morley herself spoke to argue on our behalf, which led to a vote. To our elation, council overruled urban forestry unanimously and let our permit application go ahead.
As a final insult, the city charged us $12,000 (a pseudo-fine) for the valuation of the rotting tree and stipulated that we replace it with a new sapling. Other city fees included: $15,000 in surveys, plans and assessments; more than $20,000 for building application fees and permits; more than $24,000 in fees for permission to remove and replant both private and city-owned trees and to plant new trees; more than $20,000 to the Toronto water department for sewer disconnections and reconnections; and more than $100,000 in development fees. In total, we spent close to $200,000 to get shovels in the ground—an almost-two-year process.
Our family rented for 13 months during construction and moved in September of 2024. Our new home is everything we dreamed of, and we love it. We listed the second home in August of 2025, but it’s been a tough market, and we’re hoping traffic will pick up come fall.
Our dealings with city hall, however, are far from over. We’re still hounding various departments for a variety of things: closing up the existing driveway curb and cutting a new one, checking in on potential sinkholes that may have formed from sewer work, and fixing the torn-up sidewalk. The urban forestry department, for its part, is finalizing the required planting of replacement trees for us to execute—with more fees, of course. It’s been a drawn-out ordeal, but at least our family now has a beautiful home. More importantly, we no longer have to look up every time we go outside.
