Swinging at the root of southern culture

As a child, I would spend many afternoons in the waning sunlight with my grandparents beneath a shade tree in their front yard.

I would sit and listen as they discussed the day’s events, whatever they might be. We would sit in their swing, me nestled in between, and swing until the sun went down.

It was one of the safest feelings that I remember as a child. I would look up through the branches of that tree and catch glimpses of the sunlight but I would feel invincible to its heat.

No matter how hot it was outside, the shade tree protected us, and you know how hot it gets during these southern summers.

The shade tree is an invaluable piece of southern history and southern lore.

How do I know that?

It’s simple. All I had to do was look around my neighborhood as a child. It wasn’t just my grandparents and I who were enjoying the cozy shade of our giant, looming tree. It was everyone. There were swings beneath most of the trees in everyone’s front yard. It didn’t matter if it was a tall pine or a wide oak, so many of the elderly and young alike would be sitting beneath their tree.

It was tradition.

People would sit out under their trees or on their front porch and would just chat the afternoon away. On many special days, my grandmother would bring out some ice cream and I would smile that special children’s smile – the one full of that warm, fuzzy feeling. It didn’t matter what my grandparents were talking about. It was just that feeling of escaping the sun after a long day of pretending to be a G.I. Joe or a Transformer and just relaxing in the shade of a giant tree.

Sometimes I would go out and sit underneath our massive pine by myself but that never really felt the same. I couldn’t enjoy the tree’s shade without my family around me.

Does that make sense?

The tree would bring my family together every afternoon. It was almost like a reunion. No matter how long a day my dad and grandfather had, they would find time to sit beneath our tree and discuss the Atlanta Braves or the Chicago Cubs or some other sports. My mother and grandmother would discuss supper and what they were going to do over the weekend.

For all of you who know what I’m talking about, the shade tree didn’t stop with just family members, though, did it?

Some of my neighbors would come over and enjoy the shade of our tree with us. Those were special days when “Ms. Peachy” and “Ms. Ruth” would come over and chat with my family.

Those were exciting times.

It would probably surprise my parents to know that I even remember those afternoons beneath our pine. It’s not something that most adults would think a child would remember. In a world of video games, television, and air conditioning, it’s hard to fathom that a child would remember anything else, but I remember.

I remember that no matter how hot the sun was, I could sit with my grandparents in that swing and a breeze would brush across my face that felt like heaven.

After all, that’s what the shade tree was, wasn’t it?

It was kind of like a tiny piece of heaven fell from the sky and landed in my front yard. It was like while I was sleeping one night, a star fell from the sky and landed in my front yard, creating a cozy utopia in which my family could rest away from the sun.

I’m talking about it as it relates to my family but it was bigger than that. The shade tree is a vital part of southern culture. It’s one of those things that defines the old-style south. Shade trees and front porches were ways for generations upon generations of neighbors to be friendly.

Of course, it wasn’t just a neighborly thing either.

Everybody used to fight for that shade tree during church picnics. It was like the front seat of a concert. Everybody wanted that seat. You could sit and enjoy your picnic without the sun’s tenacious touch.

The shade tree touches southern culture to the bone. It’s one of those things that define who we are, one of those things that seep deep into our character and our soul.

My shade tree touched me. It has always been there in the caverns of a young boy’s memory. It’s one of the most beautiful memories of my childhood.

It didn’t matter how cool the air condition was inside, the shade tree was cooler. It could have been all in my head but it didn’t matter to me. The shade of our tree was amazing, literally or figuratively.

It will never escape my memories.

My grandfather may have gone on to Heaven, but every now and then while I’m visiting my grandmother, the breeze will catch our swing.

It will rock into motion and the cozy feelings of my childhood will come flooding back through my body and I will see myself, eight years old, swinging beneath our pine tree, snuggled up between my grandparents.