Moments #22: That Ugly Old Swing

This backyard swing may not have looked like much.

The first night in my current house, I stood in the kitchen and looked out the window at the backyard and I said, “That swing has got to go.” The wood looked old. The chain was rusted. It was an ugly old swing, left behind by the house’s former owners. It was easy to dismiss but, the first time I sat in that swing and I let the wind gently rock me back and forth, I fell in love with it.

It was my place to go if I was feeling down or if I just needed some time to myself. If the world was getting too chaotic or if I came home hating my job or cursing biology, I would sit on that swing and the gentle rocking would take all of my troubles.

That swing went from being an eyesore to being home.

A little over a year ago, our town got hit by a violent storm. Throughout the night, rain pounded on the roof, the wind shook the windows, thunder made the house tremble, and the flashes of lightning were so bright and frequent that I barely noticed that the power can gone out. In the morning, when the rain had finally become a drizzle, my sister and I stepped outside. Our backyard was flooded and littered with debris. Our neighbor’s tree had collapsed, smashing his fence and then crashing into our yard.

Underneath the tree were the crushed remains of the swing.

I was upset, even though I knew it was just something that no one could have controlled. I didn’t blame my neighbor. I certainly didn’t blame the tree. I didn’t even blame the storm. There was no one to blame. I guess we were lucky. If the tree had fallen in a different direction, it would have hit our house. If the cats had been outside, it could have fallen on them. When we cleaned up the backyard, we didn’t find any dead squirrels, birds, or possums under the tree. It could have been so much worse.

The man who lived across the street helped us to move the remains of the swing out of our backyard. We put it on the curb so that the city could pick it up. Because of the storm, the debris left by the storm were not picked up for three weeks. But the swing only lasted a day on the curb before someone — I don’t know who — picked it up. I take some comfort that someone took it, rather than it being tossed in a garbage truck. The swing is serving a purpose somewhere.

One year later, I still miss that ugly old swing. I guess I always will.

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