When we moved to Villa Park over 40 years ago, elm trees along both sides of north Ardmore Avenue formed a lovely tunnel that provided shady respite on simmering summer days.
My tree story is about a weeping willow tree that was in my next-door neighbor's yard.
My tree story is about a Ponderosa pine that I planted and over 200 trees of different varieties.
I would call my tree story the Five-Fingered Tree. My tree story is about a tree that is in Flossmoor, Illinois.
When I was a little kid I was the youngest of three, and when my brother and sister didn't want to play with me, outside my dad's house was this big maple tree next to our driveway, and I was able
My tree story is about a ginkgo tree on the campus of Illinois State University.
So my godmother passed on right out of cooking school, I graduated from cooking school, and instead of a funeral or anything like that she just wanted to have a ceremony on her farm and we planted
I would call my story Wonderful Miraculous Cure.
My tree story is going to be about the Tanyosho pine.
My story is about the autumn blaze maple. Almost two years ago my father-in-law passed away after complications, after a surgery.
I'll call my story the ugly duckling story, because my cherry tree was a baking cherry.
I would call my tree story Paperbark hearts. My favorite tree is the Paperbark maple. It has beautiful cinnamon-colored bark that looks like it's peeling.
Twenty-five years ago my family and I moved here from the East Coast, northern New England to be exact, and the Boston area specifically, although before living in Boston we lived in Maine.
I grew up in Lansing, Illinois, a southeastern suburb of Chicago. When I was two years old, we moved into a pre-World War II house with a double lot that had older, established trees and a pa
Growing up we had more than one horse chestnut tree around our block on the northwest side of Chicago. As kids, we liked to collect the chestnuts when they fell in their prickly green covers.
Our son Artie, who was three years old at the time, and I planted an acorn that I had found in our backyard. We protected it from mice and deer over the years and watched it grow.
Behind our backyard, through an opening in the prickly bushes, was an orchard. At least that was what my mother called it when I was young, growing up in the Chicago suburbs. It was ten