When I was a young girl--until I reached college-age and headed to the Midwest--I lived in Pennsylvania. Penn’s Woods, my mom taught me.

Around 1940, my grandparents owned a small farm, close to Roselle, Illinois. We had a willow tree close to a little creek. I saw my grandpa take a few leaves off the tree and chew on them.

One year, I collected a bag of black walnuts for a project I was going to do in the winter months. My wife and I were going to a dinner party that Saturday with friends from work.

My grandma died on a bright December day, right after a thick snowfall. As ready as she was, the living were not.

Back in the ‘50s when I was a wee girl, things were so different.

My late husband, Dan, and l loved this tree. It sits in our front yard and was probably planted when the house was built, 1957. It’s the largest magnolia I’ve seen in this area.

I plant trees for many occasions and send trees to my friends to plant for certain memories. My trees in my backyard are planted when my children were born. Each tree represents some occasion.

My husband and I live in the house I grew up in. As a child, I remember my dad planting a variety of trees after nearly all our shade trees were lost due to the Dutch Elm Disease in the 1960s.

In the yard of my childhood home, which is the home of my great-grandparents, we had a magnificent pear tree.

The Morton Arboretum has some proud examples of the black locust tree (Robinia pseudoacacia). Nevertheless, invasive tendencies raise concern about future applications.

I have been enjoying walking The Morton Arboretum for many years, and in that time a lot of things have happened in my life, as expected.

When we were new in our home I found a small maple tree growing in the narrow gangway between my house and my east neighbour.

Our favorite backyard red oak estimated to be 100 years old finally passed away to heart rot.

We were both city people. My husband and I grew up in New York and you had to take a substancial drive in order to really commune with nature.

Growing up on a farm, we had a few osage orange trees. Every year in the fall, the fruit would start to fall; they were the size of softballs and looked like brains.

My husband and I bought a home in Homer Glen, IL in 1997. Even though the home was 10 years old, none of the previous owners felt that adding trees was an important investment.

I grew up in Quincy, IL and when you reach the 4th grade, on Arbor Day, each child is presented with a tree to take home and plant in their family's yard.

In the fall of 1979, I proposed to my wife at Morton Arboretum. It was a beautiful warm fall Day with the trees in full color.

Along her quiet street in Steger, Illinois, Grandma Yushkevich had her own mini farm to feed her eight children. The strawberry patch had its own picket fence to protect her tiny sweet gems.

A lot of women who get diagnosed with breast cancer put on their warrior boots and collect their warrior friends to fight the fight and I honor them for their journeys.