THE OLD PORCH SWING

 

It was splintered, worn, and in need of white paint now and then, but always a place of comfort and familiarity. A place to sit and listen to Papaw tell stories while he rocked us back and forth and occasionally smoked a pipe. He was my daddy's dad and I loved him. He always seemed to have time for me and I knew he was happy to see us when we made the trip "home" as my Dad called it.  My feet dangled and didn't quite reach the wooden porch and sometimes I'd tuck them up underneath me and lean my head on his shoulder. The swing would groan and squeak a soothing rhythm as we swayed back and forth and we'd talk about everything under the sun. Why roosters crow......How many rabbits he'd got out of his box traps that morning....Why he wouldn't let Mamaw drive his car (she had tried once and had torn the car door completely off ) ... or how he'd found arrowheads in the cotton fields next to us when he was a kid. Sometimes he'd stop swinging and get up and go inside to get a cup of coffee. Most days, he had a bucket of water on the porch with a big dipper in it, and I'd take a drink from it when he offered, even though Mama always scolded me and told me not to drink after everyone. I can see him in my mind now, sitting in that swing and waving goodbye as we drove down the dirt road, headed home. To this day, when I think of Papaw, many of my memories involve that old porch swing and the time we spent there.

That swing was also the place that Mamaw sat to shell peas or peel potatoes for supper. She'd come out the screen door, barefoot and wearing an apron, with a bowl and knife in her hand. Fried potatoes were a staple around there (along with beans and cornbread) and when we saw her cutting up the potatoes, we'd stop playing long enough to try and grab a few out of the bowl to eat. She'd playfully swat at our hands and finally peel one for each of us to eat. We'd grab the salt and sit on the porch crunching raw potato while we talked. When she got up and went inside to cook, my cousins, my sister, my brother, and I would really get that old swing going. Of course, it wouldn't take long before one of the grown- ups would hear us laughing and yell out the window for us to stop swinging so high. They always said that one of us would get hurt or that the swing would break, but I don't remember it ever happening. Though I do seem to remember a few of us picking up a splinter or two.

In the evenings, the grown- ups would sit out on the porch - some in the swing and some in chairs around it. The men would smoke and they'd all laugh and talk about old times and people we didn't know while we chased lightning bugs and played hide and seek in the yard. When I got tired or when the mosquitoes got too bad, I'd crawl up in some one's lap on the swing and sway back and forth listening to the comforting sound of their conversation and the creaking of the swing as I drifted off to sleep. Many times, I woke up in bed the next morning, trying to remember how I'd gotten there.

When I was 10 years old, my papaw passed away and I remember how sad and lost Mamaw looked sitting in that swing alone. I remember the next visit too, when I sat in it alone and Daddy came out and swung with me awhile, never mentioning how he must miss Papaw too.

My aunt and uncle and cousins moved in with

Mamaw not long after that and the swing seemed to always be occupied. I still sat in it from time to time, but  my Aunt Janey and my little cousin, Derek were in it most of the time when we visited. He seemed to love it, and would take his pacifier out to smile at me, and then poke it back in saying something I couldn't understand. He was big for a "fooler" asd tried talking around it while he clenched it with his teeth much to my entertainment. I'm sure he was trying to tell me how much fun he was having in that swing.

An old porch swing. It's just an object, but one that is witness to the ups and downs of everyday living and the joys and sadness a family shares. It's a place for lovers, or children, or grandparents - for all generations and in all kinds of  circumstances. It's a place for making memories.

I wish I could sit in Mamaw and Papaw's front porch swing again.

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Here's the touching song I heard the other day that brought back many memories and inspired this post. If you have memories of your own porch swing, be sure and listen.

Old Porch Swing by Eddy Arnold

http://youtu.be/6ZY_iBRfn3U