Pine trees define childhood for me: when other children made snow forts in winter, we made pine straw forts in summer. We chipped off pieces of bark for play money; we braided green pine needles and collected perfect pine cones. They are prickly and harbor little itchy bugs and have a tendency to snap in two under the weight of heavy coatings of ice in the South’s frequent ice storms, but they’re tall and they grow fast, and they’re the first trees to come back when land has been cleared. I could go on . . .