(Part I of III)Author John Claypool shares this story: Years ago a thunderstorm swept through southern Kentucky at the farm where my Claypool forebears have lived for six generations. In the orchard, the wind blew over an old pear tree that had been there as long as anybody could remember. My grandfather was grieved to lose the tree on which he had climbed as a boy and whose fruit he had eaten all his life. A neighbor came by and said, “Doc, I’m really sorry to see your pear tree blown down.” “I’m sorry too,” said my grandfather. “It was ...