Sycamore

“Dirty ole Sycamore”… I believe I first heard that phrase expressed (with a touch of distain) by my mother-in-law and most recently this morning by my wife over coffee. It’s an entirely accurate reflection of a very common “lowly” tree. In fact, we glance at the lower part of a forty-foot-tall one through our kitchen window scores of times each day.
As I scan the Bureau of Forestry’s division of the Pa. Department of Conservation and Resources booklet on Common Trees of Pennsylvania there is little noteworthy about Sycamores. I won’t bore you with the descriptions of leaves and twigs. It does note the two distinct layers of bark—an inner greenish layer and a dark, constantly peeling from growth, outer layer. Perhaps the most noteworthy facts say that it is commonly planted for shade in urban areas, can grow to 125 feet tall on flood plains, and is used for butcher-block, furniture, and flooring.
I assume that some variation of this tree is spread worldwide because there are eight mentions of the word Sycamore in the Bible although that may be a Sycamore-Fig variation. Recently I marveled at the tunnel effect the huge Sycamores created as they cloaked the streets of the town of Chesterton, IN where my son-in-law and daughter live. Closer to home I see them everywhere when I take time to notice. I associate them with quiet shaded older neighborhoods. Not sure anyone plants them on purpose anymore, largely for the reasons my family expresses.
The one in our yard has been outfitted with suet, a hanging planter with honeysuckle fuchsias, and numerous bird feeders. (It draws rookeries of birds ranging from Hummingbirds to Chickadees and Woodpeckers, which create more of a mess.) I estimate that our tree was planted at least ten years prior to our purchasing this home thirty years ago. The low limbs that supported numerous swings for young folks over the years now tower over and shade part of our roof. I have a myriad of memories that flood my mind of guests who over the years have joined us under that tree for a pleasant evening’s conversation and a few “vittles.” Perhaps the most noteworthy and humorous time was when an African friend kept looking up into the branches with trepidation and later admitted he was looking for hanging snakes. Oh, the memories that this “dirty ole Sycamore” has provided.
Like so many other things on my journey, my thoughts about Sycamores change with my perspective and vantage point. If I maintain a safe distance they look lovely as they shade many byways in towns such as lovely Chesterton. It’s only when you choose to get “up close and personal” that flaws and resulting reservations come into focus. Even as I get closer, my thoughts can shift dramatically depending on whether I choose to look up or down. As I sit on our swing under our personal Sycamore, it’s difficult to miss the reality of a continual blanket of residue when I look down. However, when I look heavenward I see a refreshing canopy of shade and prodigious growth (that causes all that bark and residue to be shed). I am grateful for the endurance from forty-plus years of wind and harsh weather this Sycamore endured without my help or nurturing to grow to what it is today. I am especially thankful for the security and especially the memories and relationships it has silently hosted along the way. Mr. Sycamore, I salute you in spite of your obvious shortcomings.