Once upon a time in the early 1970’s in a small city called Wooster, which resides in the Midwestern State of Ohio, there lived two teenagers that were good friends and close as kin. One had grown up in that small city and the other had moved there from the Golden state of California bringing all sorts of new ideas and ways.
This was a strange time indeed. The preceding decade had been very turbulent with an unpopular war, protests and a youth counter culture that questioned everything that went before. By the early 70’s this movement had trickled down into the mainstream and its youth, even in small places like Wooster, and even smaller, mind you. But I digress, on with the story. These two boys, as was the custom since cars were invented, loved to cruise. They would leave the stuffy, small confines of Wooster, (think 1973) put in cassettes of fantastic music of the day that stirred the human psych like Maggot Brain, the Rolling Stones, Allman Brothers, Deep Purple; well, you get the picture. Of course, it was different back then as far as driving was concerned: less traffic, less cops and wide open spaces.
One lazy summer afternoon the boys were driving through the idyllic rural countryside and tiny towns of southern Wayne and Holmes county listening to their music, and partaking in other more forbidden indulgences popular at the time. Seeing the natural beauty of the day they decided to park the car along a shady deserted back road and go for a hike. Tramping through forest and field, climbing over a low, rusty barbed wire fence, they pressed on through the leafy enchantment breathing in the earthy smell. Up ahead a strange apparition began to take shape before them at the edge of a pasture. From where they were standing it looked like an old oil derrick perhaps, or one of Don Quixote’s windmill dragons. Upon reaching the contraption they stood there looking at a strange grey, bleached wooden platform maybe twenty five feet high and consisting of three levels that that could be reached by built- in ladders. The lowest level was broad and sturdy and the second level somewhat smaller and much higher. However, the third level was no more than a single board in the blue summer sky.
How interesting they thought. What could this thing possibly be for? Perhaps a hunter’s stand? The boy that had grown up in Ohio thought not. He had seen those before and this looked nothing like that, for sure. This thing sat on the edge of a steep slope devoid of trees leading down into a cow pasture.
Suddenly one of the boys noticed a single great oak tree planted squarely in the middle of the pasture at the bottom. It rose up like a giant. Its massive arms the size of small trees spreading out in every direction. And strangely, hanging straight down from a very high limb was a thick rope with what looked like a noose at the end.
This was weird too, they thought, and scrambled down the slope dodging cow piles as they went. Upon reaching the tree they marveled at its size and examined the thick rope with the loop tied in some sort of permanent knot. The end of the rope hung about six feet off the ground. Even stranger was the skinny clothes line attached to the noose and hanging all the way down to the ground and then some, secured to the noose by a metal fastener with a release.
What on earth do you suppose this was for, just hanging there? They pondered… who did this? It did not take too long to realize the Amish had most likely done this. They were in an area of Amish farms and the field had a old time rustic look about it. Some Amish boy had climbed four or five stories up the giant tree with a thick rope and tied it to a massive limb. Only an Amish boy could do that. But why?
They stood there silent for a couple of minutes before the realization of just what they had found dawned on them. The platform on the hill and the rope hanging from the tree was one giant wicked swing. One of the boys grabbed the clothes line and the two of them scrambled up the hill hauling the heavy rope. Upon reaching the platform the boy with the line climbed to the first level and moved to the edge. Pulling the line he drew the heavy rope and noose up to him. Carefully grabbing the rope above noose he stuck one foot into the loop, shoved off, straightened up, and like Tarzan of the apes swung down the hill and out over the pasture. At the tail end of the swings’ momentum the boy was momentarily suspended perhaps forty feet above the ground before the rope began its backward trajectory. Letting out a rebel yell and swinging back and forth until the rope slowed, he then dropped to the ground near the giant tree.
The other boy took his turn. They then tried the next level which was even more of a “rush.” Finally, one boy climbed to the highest position on the single board. Pulling the clothes line and bringing the heavy rope loop up, he had to balance carefully with one foot while placing the other foot into the loop. Leaning precariously forward, his hands stretching down and finally grabbing the rope much nearer to the loop than at the other levels, he shoved off with his free leg. Down and out he flew through the air. Struggling at first to straighten up he managed gain stability after a few harrowing seconds. Rushing past the hill and over the pasture the swing climbed to its highest point. Almost sideways, the boy looked down with glee at the green pasture spread out beneath him. While above and parallel to him the great oak watched as the rope stretched and groaned. Soon, the other boy also took a turn at the high board, hugging the rope and sailing out through the warm afternoon summer sun.
They stayed at it the rest of the afternoon, flying on the big swing, intermittently taking a break and sitting on the pungent grass. They kept expecting to look up and see a few Amish boys suddenly appear, but they never did so. They wondered at the age of the giant oak and the rope and launching structure. The oak could surely have been there when Native Americans lived in this land. The structure was weathered and grey but seemed sturdy and sound. As the shadows grew long, darkening the slope, they started back to the car. They would come back to the magical place; of that there was no doubt.
It’s strange how such things go; for a secret place never remains so long. And so it was with the swing being found out. Within a few weeks the boys arrived at the swing only to find others there also. There were kids from the boys’ school and other schools as well. When asked how they found it the kids would just say a friend told them. Soon many more would arrive on the weekend and the cars would line the narrow gravel road in the forest.
The Swing became a “happening.” The swing would creak back and forth over the pasture as boys let out a roar of pleasure and the girls would scream and hang on tightly. Each would start at the lowest level of the platform. Some, but not too many, would go to the high rail and fly from there for the biggest thrill of all.
It was a party and the swing would sway in the afternoon sun while the kids waited in line, or lay in the grass drinking wine or beer and other indulgences. Many would hike through the forest to explore or make out while others would stand by the cars back by the road drinking and smoking with the radio blasting out a tune.
With each passing week the numbers of kids at the swing would grow, But all things come to an end eventually, and so it was with the swing. Something had to happen, and it did. The partying began to intensify and the pasture and woods would ring with rebel yells, and laughter. One day a boy took off from the swing flying out over the pasture. When he reached a high point in the arch of his flight his grip slipped and he fell. As he lay still upon the ground his friends came running down the hill to his side.
The two young friends that began this story were not in the woods at the swing that day and did not hear of the incident until later. They only knew that someone fell and was hurt badly. It must be remembered that this was back in the days of no cell phones, and out in the sticks to boot. His friends may have carried him to the car and drove him to an emergency room, or taken him to the nearest dwelling to use the telephone to later be picked up by an emergency vehicle. But the time of the “Swing” was over and it was dismantled and NO TRESPASSING signs stuck in the ground.
And so the Swing was no more than a memory of one summer in the life of those young people, and a plate in the head of the injured youth. Youth is a exhilarating time and a dangerous time where chances are taken and experiences raw and etched in the mind more deeply lasting than whatever comes after.
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By James Guy
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