Why "The Porch Swing Chronicles"?

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In last Monday's post, I mentioned that I'd just celebrated my "blogiversary" -- nine years of blogging. I started out on TypePad and moved to this address three years later, but from the beginning, the blog has been "The Porch Swing Chronicles."

The first porch swing I remember having an affinity for belonged to my late friend Marti Vaughan, but it was another porch swing on another weekend that inspired the name of the blog: 

Memorial Day weekend landed smack in the middle of all this [end of school year] craziness, and of course, there was a picnic to attend. My "to do" list scrolled endlessly through my mind as I tried to convince myself that taking a huge chunk out of a Sunday was a good idea. Everything in me screamed, "Run! Claim this time! Stay home and check things off your list!" Oddly enough, it was the first clear voice I'd heard in the mental chaos of the past several weeks.

I silenced it, however, and went to the picnic. While there, I wandered onto my sister-in-law's front porch and sat in the porch swing, easing myself back and forth, taking in the rural front yard so different from my own suburban lawn, looking over the porch railing at the creek where my brother-in-law had discovered three snakes that day. 

Slowly, amazingly, peace came. For the first time in a long time, I simply sat, enjoying the quiet, a talent I've never been able to fully cultivate. 

As I get older, I get better at cultivating the talent of enjoying the quiet, but I still spend a lot of time trying to take charge of the to-do lists that scroll endlessly through my mind. I'm getting better at that, too, learning to organize both time and space, but able to let go a little, especially as I spend time on porches and patios with people I care about.

Before we left for home, I made sure to show my daughter [then eight years old] the porch swing. She and I sat there alone for a few minutes, and she discovered the fish jumping out of the water, then right back in. Instantly, she loved the swing as much as I did (though my husband remained puzzled by its allure). Then, my sister-in-law joined us, telling the story of the porch swing she'd taken from her grandfather's home when he passed away. It was certainly not the first time I'd sat on that swing, but it was the first time I'd heard its story.

Whether you're a regular reader, or you're reading this blog for the first time, thanks for joining me. I hope you'll come back to join me for more Porch Swing Chronicles.

Photo: jackietrains via Morguefile

A Porch Swing Chronicle

It's a perfect night for sitting out on a porch swing, or in a screened-in porch, neither of which I have (yet). I do have a back patio, though, and so I am sitting out on my patio swing enjoying an uncharacteristically comfortable August evening.

This blog was begun on a porch swing during. Four years ago, I turned my back on a daunting to-do list and all the frantic craziness that accompanied it, and instead went to a picnic. While there, I wandered onto the front porch and sat in the porch swing, easing myself back and forth, taking in the rural front yard so different from my own suburban patio. Over the railing, I could see the creek that ran through my brother- and sister-in-law's back yard - the creek where my brother-in-law had discovered three snakes that day. If I found three snakes in my yard, I'd move. Or at least call Snakebusters.

But the porch was a safe distance away from the water, and the swing was my respite. In that swing, on a porch that was not my own, miles away from the tasks that made up my to-do list, peace came. For the first time in weeks, I simply sat, enjoying the quiet.

Then the words came. Words about summer vacation and kids, long days and cool evenings. A season of sunscreen and porch swings, beaches and camps and picnics in the grass or on the living room floor.

Before we left for home, my daughter and I sat alone on the porch swing for a few minutes. She loved the swing, too, especially once she discovered that its view included fish jumping in and out of the water in the creek that both fascinated and intimidated her.

No other blogs have been written from that particular vantage point, although I sometimes come out to my patio swing to write when the weather is nice. To this day, I still don't know whether it was the change of scenery, the gentle rocking of the porch swing, or swing itself that loosened the words and inspired much-needed relaxation, but four years later, I remain grateful for the inspiration I found there.