More Than A Rope Swing With A Knot

I wish I had an actual photo of the rope swing with a knot at the end enjoyed by my cousins and I when playing down at the creek. This photo showing my aunt raking wood chips while wearing a skirt gives you a sense of where the creek was located-behind her looking over the top of the woodpile-but it doesn't show the towering maple tree from which a rope swing hung. It would have been more to the right-further along behind the woodpile.

Being a kid, that tree was mighty. Taller than all the rest, it stood out along that creek bed. No matter the season, that tree ruled. In the spring when the water rose and chunks of ice crashed against it as the wind blew and the snow swirled, that tree stood its ground. Looking out my bedroom window, I'd watch the rope get tossed about. Sometimes it'd be frozen in place due to sub-zero temperatures. When there were ice storms it'd become one long, thick sheet of ice. None of that stopped us from going down there. We never considered the weather or the season to be a factor if we wanted to play down at the rope.

But there was more than just the rope that was the attraction. Sitting right next to the tree was one huge-huge rock. Eventually we figured out tricks to do combining the rope swing and the rock. Standing on the opposite side of the tree, we'd take hold of that rope, get a running start-then leap up on to the rope-holding on for all we were worth with our feet hopefully firmly planted on top of the knot. Depending on our lift-off, that rope would take us out as far as possible over the creek (in the summer full of blood suckers), then it would come back in as fast as it could on the other side of the tree. If we maneuvered everything successfully, we'd land feet first square on top of the huge rock where upon we would lift our arms in victory and proclaim a happy, "tad-da"! If we didn't maneuver everything successfully, accidents happened. There were times we came crashing in to the tree-sometimes back first. There were times we'd drop right into Sucker Creek. There were times when our lift-offs were disastrous. Our feet wouldn't catch hold of the knot. Instead, they'd flail about-hitting the creek grass, the brambles full of burrs and sometimes the huge rock itself before we came crashing to a stop. Whenever such disasters took place, we'd look up towards that row of houses to see if any adult had witnessed what had taken place. If we didn't hear anyone yelling at us, we'd go right back at it. I don't think any kid anywhere had any more fun than we did down on the banks of Sucker Creek swinging on our rope swing.

One year for Christmas, my cousin wrapped up that knot and gave it to me as a gift. Pulling away the tissue paper, tears came to my eyes when seeing that knot again. It was as if I was greeting an old friend. In some ways-I was.