If you wade across the little gully creek behind the old iron cook-stove (the one used once a year to boil a hog? yes, that one...) and climb up the vine covered hill (with purple flowers, right? yes, child…), there is a tall oak tree at the top. It’s crooked and leans a little to the left, but hanging from a high bough is an old wooden swing. The ropes are long, and the seat is rough, and if you don’t sit carefully, it might tip you onto your butt in the dirt. When you sit down and start to pump and swing, you’ll see how what looks like an ordinary old tree-swing becomes so much more. Perched at the top of the hill, when you swing out over the creek, you are about a mile high. If you’re lucky, your uncle will meet you on the hill, and be waiting to grab the swing, jumping high with the arc of your ascent, and heave you with all his might back out over the ravine. Your breath will catch in your throat, your heart will pound, your knuckles will be white on the old ropes, and your laughter will explode from your tight, swirling stomach as you swoop backward past the soft worn earth beneath the tree and arch high over your uncle’s head. Your mother will watch, pale-faced from the porch, whispering to the other women as they set out baskets of chips and shoo flies. She knows, even though you do not, that if you fell while soaring high over the creek, you would probably die. It doesn’t matter. You don’t fall, and you don’t die. But you do know what it feels like to fly.
Dandelion Mama 
Stunning!
And this is why I read your blog. It is a joy and a delight to read your writing.
Since childhood, I have had a recurrent dream about flying. You captured the escape, joy, and reality this dream is to me.
I didn’t dream my flight dream last night, but this piece makes me wonder if actually I did. Because that feeling of knowing I can fly, secretly and only when I really need it, is with me again.
oh, yeah, tracy. that was gooo-od.
You need to write a book
Thank you all. This is actually a post I’ve been meaning to write for about four years now.
My uncle, who shares this memory with me, holds a dear spot in my heart. For some reason, yesterday, I finally was able to capture the feelings in a way that did them some measure of justice. It still pales to the real thing.
Astounding.
Tracy, I love your way with words. You capture the essence and make us feel as if we are flying over the creek with you.
Simply beautiful.
Beautiful, thank you.
This reminds me of my grandparent’s farm that I was able to visit this summer after 5 years away. The old swing wasn’t on a hill but it was the same feeling. To my dismay the rope had rotted away (it’s only been 25 years). But there was a new swing, made out of an old tire. The top had been cut out to make a nice seat. My daughter spent most of the day in it.
My uncle from this story called me today from DC… he read the post and just called to tell me he loves and that the memory I shared is one of his most dear as well. I’m truly blessed. And for some reason, I cannot stop crying- it’s like a dam burst, and I’m just overflowing.
Or a big sister or uncle gary, ron or any one else hanging around there that will do an underdog for you!!!
Absolutely lovely.
Tracy… I don’t comment here often (nor do I make myself known much over on MMW), but it’s one of my favorite places to come read. Your words make me happy. I hope they make you happy too.
Made me smile. Thanks Tracy!
I’ve compiled some photos for a slideshow in a Youtube video I made and thought to inform you that I’ve used this photo 🙂
If you were wondering, it’s a cover of Priscilla Ahn’s Dream 🙂
Thankyou! Great shot btw!
What an absolutely phenomenal portrayal of that old swing I took for granted for so long. It saddens me that it’s gone now, but makes my heart glow that I’m not the only one who remembers it. My daddy put it there the year we moved in … This will warm his heart, too. Thank you SO much for sharing this memory 🙂 Some days, I wish we could go back there!