One such place was my Granny Hood’s porch. When I think of her, that porch and all those wonderful, innocent days, are what I imagine.
She had a real porch swing, hung from the ceiling by giant springs that made creaky sounds as it swung back and forth with thin, green cushions Granny made. The porch also had an old, high backed rocker and a smaller metal chair that also rocked. Her porch was screened to keep out the bugs but allowed those wonderful summer breezes. The finishing touch was a wooden floor, painted battleship gray. When I was little, we went out on that porch to play, winter or summer, blazing heat or freezing cold.
A kid could be a kid. There was nothing there to break or stain or tear.
Long ago she knew that we needed a place where one could be a human being, not a human doing...and she gave us her porch and its enchanted swing.