Just A Swingin'

As a child, I was always fascinated by my grandparents' home. It was a farmhouse, typical (I guess) of those built around the time it was constructed. My great-grandfather built it himself. The story has been told about his "gift" of construction. Apparently, he was not one to bother much with measurements when building. He would cut the lumber prior to assembling the project, down to the last piece of wood. Once, when he was building a home for someone, the wife of the gentleman he was building the home for asked him if he was sure about the cuts he had made. He told her to wait and see. Everything fit together perfectly.

Many times I have pictured the house in my mind, going through it room by room. The place I always begin is the front porch. It extended across the front of the house. As you reached the top of the steps, on your right was a long swing. I have heard that a traveling salesman came through taking orders for swings. They came in different lengths. My grandfather agreed to order the standard length swing. A cousin told him to add a foot, and he would pay the difference. An uncle told them to add a foot, and he would pay for that. Different ones kept telling him to add a foot until the swing became about six feet or so in length. We played many times on that old swing. I can remember as I grew older, taking a pillow out on the porch, lying down in the swing and drifting off to the sounds of the wind blowing through the pecan trees and the cattle lowing in the pasture. Nearby was the cheerful chirping of the birds. Even now, I can almost close my eyes, and feel the warm sunshine and gentle breezes lulling me to sleep.

Wait! What is that I hear? Oh yes. That is my Grandpa Zary . Actually his name was Azara, but everybody called him "Zary". He is (in my memory, that is) walking down the open hallway that runs through the middle of the house. As he walks, I can hear him singing a song... "Load sixteen tons and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt"... one of his favorite songs. He stops and pulls out his can of tobacco and his cigarette papers. He painstakingly handrolls his own cigarette. He lights it up, takes a couple of puffs, and proceeds down the hallway. (Several years later, he laid down the cigarettes on a bet, and never picked them up again. Unfortunately, the damage was already done. He was diagnosed with emphysema, which gradually took away his life.) Always in his standard issue of overalls and button down shirt. All the years I knew him, I never saw him wear anything else, except twice. Once, when my other grandfather passed away, he came over to visit with my Mother's family. He was wearing a brown suit (I didn't even recognize him, at first). He looked totally different. The second time was when he passed away. If I remember correctly, they put the same suit on him. I wish he had been put in his overalls. It would have suited him better. I loved him dearly, as long as I can remember. He told me once, that I used to skip along behind him when he would be checking on the animals, and say to the world in general "I am Grandpa's sugarpie!"