I’ve been a climbing-tree connoisseur my entire life; I’ve sampled short, tall, gnarled, smooth, deciduous, coniferous, a whole variety really, but the most significant tree i

My story begins when I was born on October 28, 1950, to a Mom who loved the outdoors and trees and the Morton Arboretum.

This is a simple story, as I understand it from my late father, who passed last year (2017).

I had worked several years at a behavioral health hospital on a residential unit, with some amazing physicians. However, Dr.

When I was a child back in the 40s, we had no air conditioner, so the summer nights were sometimes hot, sticky and unbearable.

I have chosen the Callery Pear that stands proudly and strongly in the plaza of the 911 Memorial in New York City. It is called the Survivor Tree.

Our family lives in Downers Grove, IL, and our house is surrounded by four mature Sugar Maple trees, a pretty Crabapple tree, and giant pine trees which line one side of our property like a fence.

I have a beautiful tree at my house in the front yard, but I have never climbed it yet. Maybe someday. I would never want it to break down or get struck by lightning because it is so beautiful.

My parents are gone but their little Christmas tree made its way into my home.

I laugh inside every time I hear friends or neighbors complain about cottonwood trees.  The tiny seeds floating in puffs of cotton, yes, clogging the air conditioner, are a joy to me.

When I was a boy, we had an old birch tree in our front yard. It would stand there with its papery bark peeling away and low-splitting trunks begging to be climbed on.

My mother was an avid gardener her whole life. Despite working full-time, she spent countless hours tending to her perennial garden and magnolia trees.

Last year when I was 8 something horrible happened and my Dad died from cancer. His cancer moved to his liver and then two days later he died. We cried a lot and a lot.

I was born in Minnesota, you know, the land of 10,000 lakes. But along with all of those lakes are a lot of trees.

Imagine coming home one day and thinking something horrible had happened to your neighborhood.  It looked like a war zone.

My tree story begins in the summer of 1965. A wonderful park about a quarter-mile from our house, called Willow Park, was filled with beautiful willow trees.

A cottonwood tree is rarely anyone's favorite today. It is not disease resistant or strong, plus the female tree spreads fluffy seeds everywhere in the spring.

     Eighty-nine degrees, a sweltering August day in Chicago.  No soothing breezes moved the air. The curtains hung damp with humidity.

I went to you for solace.

The sticky summers of my 1950’s youth seemed more extreme than those of today. Back then we didn’t have air-conditioning in homes, cars, or even most businesses.