Posted By MissMeliss on August 25, 2010
Tire Swing | Source: Morguefile.com | Click to embiggen
CafeWriting asks us this month to write about childhood using the picture above as a source of inspiration.
* * * * *
I’ve written before about the scent of my mother’s straight pins, but there’s another childhood aroma that I often remember: the scent of a sun-warmed rubber tire.
Now, I’m not one to rhapsodize about auto parts, and I never crawled around parking lots sniffing wheels, but as a small girl, I did have a tire swing suspended from one of the trees in my grandparents’ back yard. My grandfather had created it for me, either because I’d asked or because he held some unspoken belief that all children should experience the joy of spinning on an old tire until they are completely nauseous. Either way, countless hours of swinging, spinning, and sometimes just sitting, ensued.
There are two ways to make a tire swing. You can have a horizontal surface, suspended by three anchor points, or you can have a vertical tire, with loops of rope at only one point. The former is safer, and commonly used in public playgrounds; the latter is more authentic, and more fun. On a vertical tire swing, you can stick your legs through the hold, and let the hollow rubber rims cradle your buttocks, or you can balance on those self-same rims, or you can climb up to the top and straddle the rope. The first method lets you swing higher and farther, but you have to have a good grip – long arms help, too. The second can be ill-advised if you’re one who likes to spin. The third is not always comfortable – wrapping the rope in something soft helps some – but gives you an excellent vantage point and decent swing-ability.
One thing that is constant across all tire swings, however, is the smell of the rubber. When it’s cold, a rubber tire has a faintly metallic note, but when the sun has warmed up the treads, not only is the rubber slightly softer, but it has a scent that combines a sweet earthiness with a sharp chemical tone. It should be gross. It should be disgusting. It should be completely unappealing, and yet it is none of those things. Somehow, maybe because the rubber fumes make you a little high, or maybe not, it’s a comforting aroma.
I was always perfectly content to curl up with a book and read away an afternoon – I still am – but when I had my swing, I found myself hanging from it and staring up at the sky, diffused by the dappling of green leaves. I was in a bubble of my own imagination, surrounded by grass and trees and honeysuckle, of singing birds, and my grandmother’s singing as she hung clothes on the line. I smelled the earth, the grass, and the sweet summer smell of Firestone.
Category: Nostalgia, Picture It |
1 Comment »
Tags: Cafe Writing, Picture It
