I grew up in the shadow of a Sycamore tree. On an old farm in Upstate New York, aptly called Sycamore Place. The tree, the largest in NY for many years, was already 150 years old when our house was built in 1861. Unfortunately, this year, the completely hollow tree finally succumbed to time and branches started falling, forcing the town to cut it down. It’s the end of an era, but I’m still so glad to have grown up here.