Inspired by Leigh Anne Eck’s post about her porch, I got to thinking about the two houses I’ve lived in that have front porch swings.
Orchard Lane–It was a white swing with hard wooden slats. Not comfortable at all, yet I would spend hours on it, swinging and reading. I remember the creak the chain would make as I moved forward and back. I remember the prickly green artificial grass carpet as my feet slid back and forth along its cool bristly surface. I remember the way I would curl up on the swing, my body cramped into an awkward shape with my head on the wooden arm rest. We didn’t have central air conditioning, so in the summer the front porch swing was one of the coolest places to be. We lived a short distance from the library, so many afternoons were spent visiting the library and returning home to read on the porch swing. It might be a Judy Blume book or the next book in the Flowers in the Attic series. Hours would pass. Page after page would turn. I was so content on that white swing.
Franklin Street–It was a white curved wicker swing with a flowered seat cushion. I remember the sticky, clear plastic sleeve that covered the metal chain. I remember the grinding sound the metal links would make as the swing oscillated. I remember the painted concrete floor with a gritty sand texture that gently massaged my feet as I skimmed them up and back on the ground. Many afternoons were spent on that swing gliding my babies back and forth after they woke from a nap. The gentle movement as they got out of their post nap stupor, sipping at a cup of milk and eating some animal crackers always did the trick. As they began to lift their heads to look around, we would read from our stack of books. It was the perfect wake up call each afternoon.
My current house doesn’t have a front porch swing. Maybe someday I will again. Will I enjoy a cup of coffee on the swing with a book in my retirement? Will I rock my grand babies holding them close and reading them stories? I hope so!