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My stay at the beach is set for later in the summer.
The midsummer week off with my boyfriend, Derek, hasn’t happened yet, either.
Nor have I gone on my highly anticipated, first-ever motorcycle run on the Cherohala Skyway (although that may have changed by the time you read this).
So why can’t I imagine being happier with summertime than I am right now?
The answer is beside me: It’s as fine a tree swing as anyone can imagine. It’s not yet attached to the big maple right outside my living room window, but that may also have changed by the time you read this.
Although basic in form and function, my swing really is a fine piece of craftsmanship. Derek, who made this object of my desiring, chose a thick slab of cypress that met my only specification — wide enough, side to side, for the most advanced middle-aged haunches.
The edges have been rounded for, shall we say, wind resistance. The hardware is stainless steel. To understand the elements of advanced craftsmanship my hero brought to this seemingly simple job, you would have had to watch him work.
When I bought this house 10 years ago, the big maple came with a basic child’s swing — a thick, green plastic disk with a rope running through the center.
My twin niece and nephew liked it then, but now they are ready for driver’s permits. The fact that wasps launched an attack on me from under it last year didn’t help its cause.
It’s coming down; this new swing is replacing it.
Swings were a favorite part of my childhood. During all six years of recess at Thorn Hill Elementary, I scrambled out the door to get one of the limited seats on the playground swing set, then fearlessly lofted toward the heavens.
These days, I see myself doing more gentle dangling with a good book in hand than kicking toward the heavens.
What better place to take in the wonder of the world than swaying beneath leafy shade, letting the gentle creak of rope and limb rock away the stresses of adulthood?