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

GRANDMA'S APRON

As I looked through my kitchen drawers the other day, I ran across this apron.

It was made for me by my Grandma King and I have a blue one similiar to it that my Grandma Bray made. They both laughed when I requested them several years ago, but seemed happy to make them for me. Now both of them are gone, but I smile whenever I see those aprons and think of my childhood and how often my grandmas and mother had one on. I don't wear my aprons often.... in fact, not in years, but they are so special to me and bring a flood of memories whenever I see them.

Not long ago, I saw this poem on a friend's site and found it very touching as it reminded me of seeing my grandmas do many of the same things. Hope you like it:

Grandma's Apron

I don't think our kids know what an apron is.
The principal use of Grandma's apron was to protect the dress underneath because she only had a few. It was easier to wash aprons than dresses and they used less material, but along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.
It was wonderful for drying children's tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears…
From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.
When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids.
And when the weather was cold grandma wrapped it around her arms.
Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove.
Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.
From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables.
After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls.
In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees.
When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.
When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men-folk knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.
It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that'old-time apron that served so many purposes.

Grandma used to set her hot baked apple pies on the window sill to cool.
Her granddaughters set theirs on the window sill to thaw.
People now would go crazy trying to figure out how many germs were on that apron.
I never caught anything from an apron…
except Love.

~Unknown


I also remember how my grandmas used the pockets to hold their clothespins while taking clothes off the line and how flour always seemed to be on the apron from frying chicken, making biscuits, or rolling out pie crust. On Sunday dinners at Grandma's house, my sister, my cousin, and I would have one tied around us while we helped with dishes. Funny, the memories that an object can bring back.....


Saw this at the dollar store today and couldn't help but buy it for it Christmas. Not very functional, but I think they'd like it. :)