We have a big Sycamore tree by the pond on our family farm. When we were kids, our dad made us a swing rope that hung from one of the big branches looming out towards the water. He put knots in the rope along with a small, round wooden seat at the bottom. We would take turns clinging with all our might as my dad would push us high in the air over the pond. We would twist and turn and zoom while shrilling at the top of our lungs. Many fun times were spent beneath the Sycamore tree. That big tree is still there, casting shadows over a memorial stone to my late dad.