Porch Swing

On the Conneaut Swing

I'm dozing and there is a sound.  It is a rhythmic double creak that reverberates through the ceiling and off the walls.  It lulls me deeper into my sleep.  I feel comfortable.  The feeling of movement is anticipated and welcome.

I'm on the front porch swing of the cottage at Conneaut Lake, PA.  This swing is huge.  I remember it all of my life.  It was even bigger when I was a small child.  In fact it has repeatedly knocked unwary small children on their behinds.  You learn fast to respect the porch swing.  Then you learn to love it.

All my growing life, we had a swing on our front porch.  Always made of wood and always the most coveted place to sit when enjoying the porch.

You had to be careful when swinging.  If you went too high or fast, you would bang the porch railing.  Too many of those bangs would risk a curt word from my father or mother.  But swinging the perfect arc was so rewarding.

Since I left home when I joined the Coast Guard, none of my houses have had a porch swing.  Heck, a lot of the places we have laid our heads didn't even have porches, but the porch swing has always held a special place in my heart.

This latest walk down memory lane was brought to you by the fact that the porch swing legacy continues.

My niece was showing me pictures of her new house and I saw that her porch had a swing on it.  It brought all the memories of the swings I have placed my behind on and I felt happiness.

So here is to The Porch Swing.  May they always swing the perfect arc.