There’s magic in Beaufort’s creaky swings.
Two years ago one of our children became seriously ill and was hospitalized for three months. Before we go on, he’s doing well today, so you can relax and (please) keep reading. This is not a story about trials and tribulations.
That being said, we climbed out from the wreckage of that event and realized that the ordeal of coping with it had left our whole family exhausted, jittery, and generally freaked out. Sleepless nights, balancing work and hospital visits, and eating way too much fast food had taken its toll on our general well-being and we were, for lack of a better way of saying it, a collective mess.
In situations like these, one needs a little perspective and I knew where to find it. I needed to go home to Beaufort. So I called ahead to make sure my bedroom hadn’t been taken over by my mother’s cookbooks and fabric collection, bought plane tickets, asked the neighbor to feed the cats, and went home.
This visit happened in November when the Lowcountry heat had faded, most of the tourists had gone home, and the evenings could be enjoyed without the harassment of sand gnats and mosquitoes. We were embraced by family, nourished by my mother’s most excellent southern cooking, and restored by frequent trips to The Chocolate Tree for fudge and to Hunting Island for strolls along the beach. But one activity, so simple, so small, was the most therapeutic for me.
I sat on the swing.
From that vantage point I watched the sun set over Wallace Creek. I regarded the herons as they had their lunches of fiddler crabs and small fish. And I allowed the soft, humid breeze from the creek blow away the strain of the last few months. At a time when our little family boat had run aground on a sandbar, the simple act of swinging allowed me to stop agitating for a minute and come to the realization that the tide, as it always does, was turning.
We’d be back in the water and floating along again very soon.
Swinging is the perfect combination of activity balanced with rest, the soft swaying motion allowing our bodies to gradually rock away the stress, and settling our minds so that we can think clearly again. Perspective, creativity, and insight come to us when we least expect it, especially when a swing is involved.
Thanks to very thoughtful city planners, the Beaufort waterfront is the perfect place to go when one needs to find a different viewpoint, nurture a relationship (many a date has included a trip to the waterfront swings), or remember what it feels like to just sit still and be present in the moment.
At any point during the day or evening, one can sit on the swings at the waterfront and ponder the possibility that the view of the Woods Memorial Bridge, the soft lapping of the Beaufort River against the sea wall, the shore birds gliding across the water, and the boats peacefully making their way was all planned simply for your personal enjoyment and peace of mind.
Perhaps the magic happens because swinging takes us back to our more carefree childhood days when we spent more time on swings. The swing of my childhood was a simple rope tied to the largest branch of a Spanish Oak tree on the Yard Farm on St. Helena Island. My brother and I, along with our adventurous friends, got an extension ladder and leaned it against the trunk of the tree so we could climb to the first bifurcation of limbs about 12 feet from the ground. We carried the swing with us, carefully stepped off the ladder and into the tree, turned around, tucked a foot into the loop of rope, and jumped.
Oh, the adventure! (Especially since the integrity of the rope was constantly in question.) The swing gods always smiled on us and we never got hurt but I am still amazed, to this day, that my mother ever allowed us to do it.
And today, my children still beg their uncle for his special swing pushes on that same swing – Under-dogs, of course, but also their own spinning, squealing swing creations – The Dream, The Storm, The Airplane, The Tornado, and The Nightmare. My memories of that swing – my own childhood memories and the memories of my children playing on it – are permanently impressed in my mind and when I am old and can’t remember what I ate for breakfast, I will still be able to hear the joyful laughter of children playing on an old rope swing tied to the branch of a very old oak tree.
So if you’re in need of a change in mindset, some perspective, or just a mental deep breath, get to the Beaufort waterfront as quickly as possible. Take a seat in a swing. Use your foot to gently propel yourself back and forth. Then wait for the magic to happen.
Originally written as ‘The Magic of Swings’ by Elizabeth Bishop Later for A Place Called Home: A memoir of Beaufort and St. Helena Island, South Carolina. You can read more from the book and writings of Sonny Bishop and Elizabeth Bishop Later at BishopsBest.com
