A chance encounter with Nature’s answer to the helicopter prompts Martin Fone to ponder how sycamore seeds managed to fall to earth so gracefully.
Every autumn the garden comes under attack from hundreds of winged seeds, some resting at a jaunty angle in the soft soil of the lawn and borders, others lying forlornly on the patio. The source of the fusillade is not difficult to discern: a sycamore across the road whose tall structure and broad, rounded crown gives some…
