For me, there's just something about summer and a swing. The movement. The quiet. That bright emerald green of the leaves mixed with the bright blue sky. I loved tipping my head, leaning back and watching them as I sailed underneath. My thoughts and imagination would run, matching the tempo of my pumping arms and legs. Was I in a race? Was I taking in the congratulations? Yes I was. I always won.
I remember getting off the kindergarten school bus at my great-grandparents home and running to their swing set. It was very old and the only working part on it was the lone swing. I would sit on the wooden seat, grab the rusty chains and pump. I loved it! I would swing as hard and as high as I could in the shade of the beech and maple trees. I became part of the sky. I would make myself dizzy leaning back as far as I could to watch the leaves and branches sway. I would swing until great-grandma called me in for lunch and the dreaded nap. Sometimes I would take the flying jump off the swing landing hard on the ground; other times I would scuff up the dirt in my white sock and saddle shoes. I was a kid, I didn't care.
I can also remember running to help gather eggs. It was such a big deal for this little girl. I would carry as many as I could to the house and great-grandpa, being the spoiler of grand kids and great-grand kids, would let me. And, of course, I dropped some on the cement porch steps. I cried. Great-grandpa reassured me that it was all okay. I had done the cats a favor. But I was still disappointed in my failure. The very next day when it was time to gather eggs, great-grandma handed me a brand new, red basket. It was perfect for little girls who like to gather eggs. But I digress. I was talking about swings.
It wasn't long and that old swing broke. There was a new swing set to replace it, but it wasn't quite the same. So I took to sitting and swinging in great-grandpa's porch swing that he made. My favorite time in that swing was when great-grandpa would join my sister and I. He would be in the middle and would use his long legs to push the swing, an arm around each of us. Without warning he would stop in the middle of a push so the swing was at its full backward motion and his feet would be firmly on the ground holding it there. The first time he did this my sister and I fell off but we got such a kick out of it. It was one of those little scary things that kids like. We never knew when he was going to do it again and the anticipation would drive us to the edge. We quickly learned to not completely relax when he was pushing the swing, that was key to staying in it when he would pull his little trick. He was such a fun grandpa.
For a short time, my family lived in a house that had a swing in a tree out in the front yard. I loved that. There I was a senior in high school and I would sit in that swing as often as I could. There's just something about a swing near or in a tree. Maybe that's why I didn't like the new swing set at my great-grandparents, because they had put it in a part of their yard that was open, no trees, no leaves, no branches.
Nowadays I choose to sit in a porch-style swing. I get a bit too dizzy when I lean back and look at the leaves, so my swing has a canopy over it which provides me some welcome shade. I look at my garden and watch it grow.
Last year my daughter, when asked what she would like for her birthday, told us she wanted a tire swing. I smiled. My husband and I looked at each other, done and done. She enjoys being alone and swinging, listening to her music. Sometimes I watch her for a few minutes, watch her lean back and look at the leaves, watch her enjoy summer on a swing.
|My view. And, yes, my garden is a little weedy. |
This was taken in early June. The plants are much bigger now
and I've been keeping up with the weeds.