On a recent trip to Canada, I was reminded of the life and works of Emily Carr, a cherished figure of Canadian arts and letters.

Trees grace many works of fiction. Think of the magnificent treehouse in “The Swiss Family Robinson,” a beautiful, elevated place of safety on a deserted island.

Most of us have a bucket list of things we want to do before we die.

The next time you glide up a ski lift, look down at the trees that pass beneath your boots.

As an ecologist, I have shelves full of scientific and literary books on trees.

No chocolate fan has to wonder why the scientific name of the cacao tree translates from the Greek to "the food of the gods."

In my family, we always choose a Christmas tree with a top branch that’s long enough to support the cardboard angel our daughter made twenty years ago.

A familiar Christmas song reminds us to “deck the halls with boughs of holly.”

Trees and people share a habit of sometimes hanging on to things that should be shed.

The first time I helped my mom make a pumpkin pie for our Thanksgiving dinner, my job was to retrieve the spices for the filling. I knew what cinnamon and nutmeg were, but what in the world was allspice?