In a world with an ever-changing environment, how can we know what air quality was like before we kept weather records?

My husband, Jack, and I have been happily married for 41 years. But one issue we can argue about for hours is the fruit of the durian tree. He loves it. I detest it.

When you look at the cross section of the trunk of an old tree, you see that it has two zones: the sapwood, which is the younger wood that’s closest to the bark and the heartwood, which is the darker, central part of the trunk.

In the world of design and construction, the modest sheet of plywood has a surprisingly rich history.

The world of trees creates many superlatives — the oldest tree, the tallest tree — but I bet that the quaking aspen is the world's liveliest tree. Its round leaves flutter in the slightest breeze.

We’ve all seen pictures or witnessed firsthand the destructive force of high winds on trees — all those images of crushed homes and downed power lines.

On a recent camping trip in Nevada, I visited a display of petrified wood.

On a recent visit to south Florida, I was intrigued to learn about Spanish moss, a plant that looks like wispy gray hair draped in the crowns of live oak and other trees in subtropical woodlands.

I love sequoias, California’s giant, coastal redwoods.

I once worked as a surveyor for the U. S. Forest Service in southeast Alaska.