Whenever we camp -- which we do frequently back in our 'normal' life -- Paul has a tradition of constructing a swing. He packs a hammock, a long length of climbing rope, and a thinner parachute cord. He searches out a choice tree with the highest possible branch that can provide an ideal arc, often a tad scary, over a river or a ravine or even out over a lake. He has all but perfected the art of swinging a rock tied to the parachute cord to hang the rope over the branch. The climbing rope is then secured to the tree with a knot called a "lark's head", and the parachute line is left tied onto the bight. This arrangement can later be used to deconstruct the swing. Then he attaches the hammock. The hammock was a more recent addition to the design, allowing younger children to enjoy the swing, and enabling swingers of all ages to impersonate superman if they so choose. His average swing hangs about 25 feet in the air.
This is not your daddy's swing.
When camping, it takes Paul a day or two to find just the right location. Not uncommonly, the boys help stake out the spot. He has hung swings at our local park (this one required a softball team star to get over the limb), Pinnacles National Park, our friends Jared and Mike's wedding on the Mendocino Coast, up in the pine trees of Sandy Flats Campground, next to Lake Tahoe, and countless others.
Sometimes the swing crosses a trail because the only open declining spot with an overhanging limb is a cleared trail. Sometimes Paul gets in trouble; in Redwood National Park, where there were plentiful signs warning people not to hang things on trees, I thought he might get us kicked out of our campground arguing with the ranger. He just couldn't resist (he claims he thought the signs only referred to redwood trees).
Well, it took Paul a few months, but he finally made the kids of La Josefina a swing! And, unsurprisingly, it's a total hit. The children of La Josefina call the swing el columpio, and it hangs proudly on the largest branch of a big rambutan* tree behind our casita. Notably, when the swing is being used, the entire tree trunk rotates about ten degrees in both directions. It's frankly frightening; after several weeks, Paul now postulates that the rotation is a positive thing-- it means the poor tree is able to weather the storm like a palm tree instead of an oak.
Our backyard has become a local park. When the school bell rings, there is a predictable herd of kids who head directly over to play. On the weekends, kids rotate through in groups. For those who are worried about the screams coming from the backyard, no se preocupen, it's just the sound of the kids flying superman style (lying on their bellies, arm outstretched) outside our bedroom window and giggles of joy as they reach for rambutan leaves from the highest point on the arc. And an occasional argument about whose turn it is. Paul is a really good pusher, so he often gets coaxed into participating (which mostly he doesn't mind). My children love it. I love it too, except for the candy wrappers that are thoughtlessly dropped in the area.
*It was only while writing this post that Dillon discovered that this tree is, in fact, a rambutan tree. Rambutans, also known as lychees, are a sweet South Asian fruit that resembles a gooey eyeball encased in a hairy red shell. We predict harvest will occur in April/May. Oh tropical fruit, how we love thee!
PS. There happens to be a second popular homemade swing at our house, let's call it a "mini-swing" in the kids tiny bedroom. Remember that Paul lofted two beds to allow for some floor space for playing. Well, Dillon, a chip off the old block, experimented by attaching one end of our hammock strap to the iron beam that holds up our tin roof. Turns out, it's the perfect place for sitting, swinging, and tormenting everyone who is playing Legos below. Plus, it can be used as an escape route from the loft when the ladder is otherwise occupied.
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