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.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Pinch of This and A Dash of That

Image
I recently made a few Raspberry Pies following my grandmother's recipe that is included in a cookbook featuring her recipes. It was put together by her oldest daughter. One of six daughters. I love using her recipes. They are quite simple. Basic. Born out of an era of raising a family on a farm where meals were homemade, and work and chores were nonstop and produce came from the garden, some of that produce eventually canned or stored in a root cellar. In a few of my grandmother's recipes, her instructions include words such as a pinch, a dash, a sprinkle or a hint as ways of measurement of certain ingredients. In the Raspberry Pie recipe, her instruction was to add a pinch of salt. Before, when coming upon that particular instruction, I would put a little bit of salt in a bowl or on a plate and take a pinch of it. Then add the pinch to the other ingredients. But this time I was curious. For whatever the reason, I asked Mr. Google what the instruction for a Pinch of an ingredie
Read more

Those Small Milk Cartons With Straws

Image
I can't remember what elementary grade I was in when taking a morning break to enjoy a small, sometimes cold and sometimes not so cold small container of whole milk with my classmates. The Milk Break was part of the daily schedule. I do remember how good it tasted. The milk didn't come in flavors. Not even chocolate. There was no fat free or calcium enriched or soybean milk. Just whole milk in individual cartons.  The cartons were either opened by the teacher and then the student put a straw into the milk or there was a sealed hole in the carton and either the student or teacher pushed a straw through the hole. Straws were not fancy or colored. They did not have brand names or licensed characters on them. They did not have loops, making it possible to watch the milk go around the loops as a student sucked on the straw. They did not come wrapped in cellophane attached to the carton.  Instead, the teacher would walk around each table full of students, stopping beside each student
Read more

Oh Those Netted Crinolines

Image
I hardly ever wore crinolines under my skirts way back when wearing crinolines underneath skirts was the fad. Not participating in a fad was unusual for me. After all, I ran to a department store located in the downtown of where I lived  the moment Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe" grabbed my attention. I had to have bellbottoms and short-sleeved ribbed sweaters. I had to grow my hair down to my waist. But crinolines were a different story. I didn't like all of that netting. I didn't like my skirts pushed way out in front of me even when most of my friends wore crinolines all the time.  However, there are most always exceptions to most anything-even when it comes to wearing crinolines if crinolines aren't your thing. For me, that exception  came when my grandmother made me a velvet green dress to wear to a Christmas party. It was going to be held in a grand old hotel in that downtown where I lived. My date was a Freshman at a nearby college. He was so cute. We
Read more