Several years ago, my husband and boys surprised me with a gift for Mother’s Day that I cherish beyond measure. The gift — a porch swing, made of two-tone all-weather materials, which will help it last for years to come. At the time I received this gift, we lived in a spacious brick home in Georgia and quickly found a home for it on the bottom level of our deck looking out into our backyard. 

From that swing, I watched my boys play in the yard, rolling down the hill of thick grass in the summer or pretending to be Olympic cross-country skiers when the grass had a coating of snow. That swing is where I sat talking and laughing with my mom as my oldest son rained leaves down on our heads from the top level of the deck. On that swing, I cuddled my youngest son, read books, sat in silence, and dreamed. It was my swing and my place for connection as well as disconnection when I needed a moment to myself.

Then we moved across the country, leaving behind that big yard and two story deck. And though our new home is lovely, it did not have an obvious place for my swing. So it sat in the shade of our overgrown lemon tree and waited. Often, my family and I would ponder where we could hang “mama’s swing.” We considered under our covered patio, but there really wasn’t space and I couldn’t face the small yard. We considered making a spot in one of the elevated planter beds, but the space wasn’t deep enough nor did it meet my aesthetic standards. 

My Aha Moment

For three and a half years my swing sat, collecting leaves and rotten lemons and blooms and whatever else blew its way until an idea crept into my head while I was hanging out in the backyard. The idea? Get rid of the orange tree. Now, I know, I thought having an orange tree was pretty spectacular when we first moved in. It was trimmed down nice and neat. The bright oranges and fragrant blooms were a treat for the senses, and it added a lovely little counterbalance to our lemon tree just on the other side of the walkway. 

But, that tree grew. And grew and grew and grew, and dropped dozens upon dozens of sour oranges every week on our paved walkway. No amount of pleading with the boys would keep these oranges picked up or disposed of regularly, so it became a weekly chore to get the discards into landscape bins in time for trash pickup. The oranges were far too sour to eat, and somehow our lemons were turning far too sweet. 

My Vision Fulfilled

I’m not one to want to cut down a tree, but this seemed to be the only way my swing would be able to fulfill its purpose, and it would relieve a frustration of constant cleanup we just couldn’t stay on top of. So, in late July, we said goodbye to our orange tree and have since been prepping the space for my swing. Rocks and dirt were cleared, leveling sand was spread and tamped down, and flagstones were laid to provide its new surface. Soon there will be pots of flowers, a cozy pillow and blanket, and whatever else I find to color my little area.

But beyond a quaint little space, this porch swing will serve as my new place to watch my boys kick a ball around the yard. It will be the spot where I feel the sunshine warm my face. It will be where I reflect on the goings on in our lives, and where I’ll dream. And it will be where I’ll find my inspiration to write. For this blog. And, soon, for larger scale publications as a freelance writer. 

Thanks for joining me in my Porch Swing Musings. Let the writing begin.