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.

When we lived in Wheaton, just a few blocks from Northside Park, an impressive silver maple graced our front yard.

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.

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.

Although you would not see this very often anymore in the Chicago suburbs, I grew up with two apple trees in the parkway of my childhood home.

Buying our new home was as exciting as can be, and with that new home came the gift of a tree.

The memories are under the trees, split and open to the air like the fruit that fell from their branches every year.

While growing up, Christmas in my family, no matter how old I was, always entailed a night service at church, a ride home from church in the car with the whole family singing hymns, and sipping hot

My aunt used to visit annually at Christmas, and she, my mother, my sister, and I would pile up in our Ford Fairlane station wagon and cruise the streets at night during her visit in search of Chri

I AM A MAPLE TREE.