The thick green, mossy rope swayed in the gentle breeze, yet seemed motionless. The gray branches of the old maple tree shook with the coming of winter, but hung lifeless in the frigid, dead air. I examined the branch closely, praying it would not snap on me. My old ripped up tennis shoes sank into the mud as I stood before the ditch. It was filled to the brim with dead maple leaves, all brown and yellow from age now. I could feel the moisture seeping into the toes of my shoes and fidgeted uncomfortably. A small crater about ten feet in diameter and five feet deep at the center lay before me. I reached out with both hands and seized the rotting wood suspended by an equally rotting rope. I reached up high on the rope and jumped onto the small horizontal piece of old branch. I swung on the pendulum, gliding through the air, smoothly. The thick maple branch held, thankfully. I didn’t mind falling off, but if the whole production came down I’d probably come out with some broken bones, that is, if I even came out at all.
This was how I spent my time; swinging hopelessly on a rope swing that my dad and his brothers used to play on when they were little. Being an only child, the woods were where I spent most of my time-especially on the rope swing. But I hadn’t been on it since summer, and who knows what the weather had done to it in my absence. As little as I was something as simple as this was quite entertaining. At the age of six, almost everything is entertaining.
As the rope twirled slowly around I took in my surroundings. The other trees and the vines of English ivy that crept up the trunk of every tree and hung down to the ground, intertwining itself. The gray, luminous clouds above poked their visibility through the cedars and the Douglas firs. Crows cawed at each other in the distance. This place was beautiful. I had to share it with someone.
Nick wasn’t thrilled about the swing, but then again, he never really was. He was more interested in playing superman.
"You are not Superman!" I shouted at him.
"YES I AM!" he screamed. He was a year younger than me, and had way too much rage for a seven-year-old.
"Then prove it," I hissed.
"FINE," he threatened. He scrambled through the dirt to the base of the tree trunk. He put one foot on the bark and grabbed the huge trunk with both arms, lifted the other leg and put that foot on the bark, but both feet slid right down. The bark scraped against his bare shins. He let go of the trunk and fell down pitifully.
"Let me show you how it’s done," I boasted, not really sure what in the world I was doing. I made use of the thick, huge ivy that grew up the tree. It was strong and made good footholds. I edged out onto the branch that the swing hung from and told him to hurry up. He hurried.
"Now," he instructed, "watch me fly."
He stepped out onto the branch that I sat on and looked down at the ditch below us. I saw a look in Nick’s eyes that I had not seen before. He was scared spitless. I let out a repressed giggle and he scowled at me. "Fly already!" I shouted.
Nick swallowed hard and leapt off the branch, grabbing onto some vines of ivy on the way down to slow his fall. He landed with a thud that was hard to miss. I soon followed, but got up faster than he did. He rolled in the dirt wining like a puppy.
"I told you," I laughed. "You’re not Superman!"
Nick wasn’t the only one who I brought to the maple tree. I brought many people, but my favorite was when Jennifer first tried swinging on it.
Jennifer kicked herself away from the trunk of the maple tree with such force that it sent her back into a wall of ivy vines. One wrapped around the base of the rope and pulled the whole wall with it as she swung back towards the tree trunk. Jennifer busied herself with untangling the vine and managed to keep herself from slamming into the tree at full force as well. She mumbled furiously as the vines tangled about her legs.
"Could you help a little?" she wined.
I stepped into the ditch and pulled down on the clump of ivy, a few vines ripping against her ankles.
"This thing is petty cool," Jennifer hummed.
"Yeah…" I sat down on a huge branch that came out of the bottom of a cedar. It was sturdy and had a width that was about the size of your head.
Jennifer had just moved to Bainbridge from Illinois, and she was about a year older than I was. I was 9 years old then, and that old rope swing was still precious to me. Nothing Jennifer said about it was news to me.
"Have you ever stood up on it?" she asked, grabbing onto a few nearby vines of ivy.
"Actually…" I couldn’t believe it! All these years and I still hadn’t tried that!
Jennifer let go of the ivy and grasped up high on the rope, hoisting herself up. She put one foot on one side of the old branch and one on the other. Then she realized she had nothing to push off of or else she might fall. So she put great effort into pumping her legs while keeping her feet on the wood.
"Okay, okay!" I shouted. "Get off! It’s my swing!"
Jennifer swung sideways to the side of the ditch that the trail led from. She hopped off and handed me the swing. I didn’t wait to sit down; I hopped right on the wood and my muddy shoes slipped right out from under me. I slid down the side of the crater laughing. Jennifer laughed, too. I attempted to wipe the mud off of my clothes with leaves, but just ended up smearing it into the fabric.
"Hey," Jennifer said softly. "It’s raining…"
I climbed out of the ditch to stand beside her and tiny sprinkles of moister tickled my frozen skin.
"We could climb up into the tree and stay dry," I suggested. "Or we could go back into the house."
"Lets go sit in the tree!" Jennifer said, grabbing my arm and pulling me down into the crater and to the base of the tree trunk. We climbed up the trunk using the huge ivy growing on the tree as steps. I leaned back against a branch that pointed unusually straight up. It was September so the leaves were just beginning to fall. The tree was sheltered by Douglas firs and cedars so it didn’t matter if it had leaves on it or not, we could still stay dry. We sat there for maybe an hour making up all sorts of weird games to pass the time until my dad came and hauled us off back to the house.
This was how I spent my time; swinging hopelessly on a rope swing that my dad and his brothers used to play on when they were little. Being an only child, the woods were where I spent most of my time-especially on the rope swing. But I hadn’t been on it since summer, and who knows what the weather had done to it in my absence. As little as I was something as simple as this was quite entertaining. At the age of six, almost everything is entertaining.
As the rope twirled slowly around I took in my surroundings. The other trees and the vines of English ivy that crept up the trunk of every tree and hung down to the ground, intertwining itself. The gray, luminous clouds above poked their visibility through the cedars and the Douglas firs. Crows cawed at each other in the distance. This place was beautiful. I had to share it with someone.
Nick wasn’t thrilled about the swing, but then again, he never really was. He was more interested in playing superman.
"You are not Superman!" I shouted at him.
"YES I AM!" he screamed. He was a year younger than me, and had way too much rage for a seven-year-old.
"Then prove it," I hissed.
"FINE," he threatened. He scrambled through the dirt to the base of the tree trunk. He put one foot on the bark and grabbed the huge trunk with both arms, lifted the other leg and put that foot on the bark, but both feet slid right down. The bark scraped against his bare shins. He let go of the trunk and fell down pitifully.
"Let me show you how it’s done," I boasted, not really sure what in the world I was doing. I made use of the thick, huge ivy that grew up the tree. It was strong and made good footholds. I edged out onto the branch that the swing hung from and told him to hurry up. He hurried.
"Now," he instructed, "watch me fly."
He stepped out onto the branch that I sat on and looked down at the ditch below us. I saw a look in Nick’s eyes that I had not seen before. He was scared spitless. I let out a repressed giggle and he scowled at me. "Fly already!" I shouted.
Nick swallowed hard and leapt off the branch, grabbing onto some vines of ivy on the way down to slow his fall. He landed with a thud that was hard to miss. I soon followed, but got up faster than he did. He rolled in the dirt wining like a puppy.
"I told you," I laughed. "You’re not Superman!"
Nick wasn’t the only one who I brought to the maple tree. I brought many people, but my favorite was when Jennifer first tried swinging on it.
Jennifer kicked herself away from the trunk of the maple tree with such force that it sent her back into a wall of ivy vines. One wrapped around the base of the rope and pulled the whole wall with it as she swung back towards the tree trunk. Jennifer busied herself with untangling the vine and managed to keep herself from slamming into the tree at full force as well. She mumbled furiously as the vines tangled about her legs.
"Could you help a little?" she wined.
I stepped into the ditch and pulled down on the clump of ivy, a few vines ripping against her ankles.
"This thing is petty cool," Jennifer hummed.
"Yeah…" I sat down on a huge branch that came out of the bottom of a cedar. It was sturdy and had a width that was about the size of your head.
Jennifer had just moved to Bainbridge from Illinois, and she was about a year older than I was. I was 9 years old then, and that old rope swing was still precious to me. Nothing Jennifer said about it was news to me.
"Have you ever stood up on it?" she asked, grabbing onto a few nearby vines of ivy.
"Actually…" I couldn’t believe it! All these years and I still hadn’t tried that!
Jennifer let go of the ivy and grasped up high on the rope, hoisting herself up. She put one foot on one side of the old branch and one on the other. Then she realized she had nothing to push off of or else she might fall. So she put great effort into pumping her legs while keeping her feet on the wood.
"Okay, okay!" I shouted. "Get off! It’s my swing!"
Jennifer swung sideways to the side of the ditch that the trail led from. She hopped off and handed me the swing. I didn’t wait to sit down; I hopped right on the wood and my muddy shoes slipped right out from under me. I slid down the side of the crater laughing. Jennifer laughed, too. I attempted to wipe the mud off of my clothes with leaves, but just ended up smearing it into the fabric.
"Hey," Jennifer said softly. "It’s raining…"
I climbed out of the ditch to stand beside her and tiny sprinkles of moister tickled my frozen skin.
"We could climb up into the tree and stay dry," I suggested. "Or we could go back into the house."
"Lets go sit in the tree!" Jennifer said, grabbing my arm and pulling me down into the crater and to the base of the tree trunk. We climbed up the trunk using the huge ivy growing on the tree as steps. I leaned back against a branch that pointed unusually straight up. It was September so the leaves were just beginning to fall. The tree was sheltered by Douglas firs and cedars so it didn’t matter if it had leaves on it or not, we could still stay dry. We sat there for maybe an hour making up all sorts of weird games to pass the time until my dad came and hauled us off back to the house.
We got the news shortly after my tenth birthday. They were cutting down our woods to put tiny houses in.
"It’s a bummer, I know," my dad said trying to comfort me.
"They’re crazy!" I shrieked. "Those woods are part of your childhood memories! And mine! They can’t do this!"
"But they can," my dad said brokenhearted.
"That’s stupid!" I screamed.
"I know," he said flatly.
"That’s just so," I searched for the right word. "STUPID!"
"I know," he said again.
"I HATE this!" I cried.
"I do, too." My dad looked out the living room window at the dark woods and gave a heavy sigh.
I brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes and stomped off towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" my dad asked softly.
"Outside."
"Don’t you want a coat?" he asked.
"My sweatshirt’s fine."
The growing chill of November stabbed at my face as the wind licked my skin. I entered the woods like I was entering a cave. I followed the muddy trail down to the crater, still filled with leaves, all of them rotten and brown. My shoes were completely drenched in mud, but that didn’t matter.
The green, moss-stained rope hung there like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. I grasped the rope with one hand, pulled it in and latched on with the other. I hopped off the edge of the ditch and glided away, a soft breeze brushing my cheeks and blowing lightly through my hair.
I can’t forget this, I thought to myself.
The pendulum slowed ever so smoothly to a stop and I hung there, suspended in time, a lonely child with just a swing. A swing and a tree, soon to be taken away forever. I looked up through the many branches of the maple tree at the gray sky, getting only grayer with every second. Just one leaf remained on the tree, and it seemed as though nothing could shake it off. A tacit deadness fell over the woods. A single leaf floated down, weaving through the branches and sweeping the breeze as it fell. The collection of maple leaves in the crater was now complete. A crow wretched somewhere in the distance of the forest.
I clutched the rope with faint heartache. The English Ivy vines cascaded down to the forest floor like green waterfalls, each drowning in memories of hot summers, of superman, of muddy failures, of rainy days, of young brothers searching for a game to play. The leaves of the ivy pattered with the sudden raindrops. The rain chimed away, bringing music to the patch of woods. This place was mine, this place was ours, they couldn’t possibly take it all away from me; from us.
They took it anyway.
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