Life can, it seems to me, be divided up roughly into “Getting Things Done in a Linear Fashion,” “Getting Things Done in a Circular Fashion,” “Not Getting Things Done,” “Just Going Back and Forth,” and finally “The Hell With It.”
Once in a while, I’m in the first couple of camps. Much of the time, however— sometimes by choice, often not—I’m in the last three.
To be more precise, it looks like I’ll be in the “Just Going Back and Forth” category more frequently in the coming weeks because my birthday wish was granted—way early too, I might add: there’s a brand new and lovely swing in our back field now.
Lucky me. And big thanks go out to my husband, who used a slice of his vacation time to attach rolls of string to tennis balls (with a bunch of throwing attempts over the high branch by us and then, triumphantly, by our niece and nephew), enabling the right kind of rope to follow and then of course the wooden plank to finish the thing off.
At this juncture, as you look again at the picture, I feel the need to say that the wooden plank is considerably larger than it needs to be to support my particular backside alone. Let’s just say it has generous proportions, perhaps anticipating that a couple of people might want to swing together. Am I saying this correctly?
The idea came over me gradually. Each morning I head down the field towards the pond, and each morning I admire that formidable oak tree that presides over on the right side, with long branch stretching out, invitingly. I mean really, it was practically asking to be swung from.
Even just imagining the completed masterpiece got me drifting back in time to “Swings I Have Known and Loved.” There was the thick rope hanging from a pine branch right behind my Long Island home, the one that would burn hands but would go high enough for us to play a game in which we’d make lines in the dirt to show how far we could go before leaping off. There was also the mostly metal playground at the elementary school — with chains dangling and wide spaces between swings, stones beneath, and a long and slippery slide that could be really hot or really cold — and another much like it at the village park, only with the bonus of a roundabout that could go really fast with lots of kids. There was also the breathtaking swing at my cousins’ place that was expertly hung so that the ride started on a grassy hill and had its apogee out over a section of Northport Bay. This one, nestled in a little clearing with no fanfare, provided me with early heart-stopping thrills. The experience was completely and utterly private, too, even if others were waiting on the bank. It was almost like being propelled into a new land, with only the breeze as companion.
And then, later on, there were of course the many different swings that my kids went on – wherever we could find them. It took a couple of days’ work to install the sturdy plastic playscape we had in our backyard near the University of Connecticut, but it really proved its worth many times over. A focal point for our kids and their visiting friends, it was always a place for trying things out, for imagination, for laughter, and sometimes even for exultation. I loved, too, that it was on a level piece of ground way at the back of the yard, so kids scampered to get there and then had the woods all around.
I doubt that the Bible has much to say about swings per se, but we all know the wonderful spiritual, “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” This is, of course, not about just another day in the park but about getting to heaven, which is kind of a serious subject. What a soaring and joyful song! Here is Johnny Cash singing it, in case you’d like a reminder. My favorite line is probably, “Well I’m sometimes up and sometimes down.” Man, ain’t that the truth?
Anyway, come on over anytime you’re in the neighborhood and want a reason NOT to get something done. We can just hang out back there for a while, shooting the breeze, admiring the trees and maybe throwing some balls or sticks to Rocky. In the meantime, I’d love to hear any memories, via the “Comments” box below, of your own swinging days of yore. How long has it been, anyway?