The rocking chairs of my life
On the farm, where I was raised with nine older siblings, was a large rocking chair that sat next to the kitchen stove. It was made of sturdy pine wood, wide flat arms, a high slatted back as broad as the red-cushioned seat.
As kids, two of us sat in it and rocked as fast as we could, at least until Mom showed up.
I recall Pop sitting on it to read the paper. Mom sat on it if she had a simple task, such as darning socks.
At some point I got over the child- phase of “rockin as fast as I could” on that rocker. It was then I enjoyed sitting on the rocker to read on cold, wintry days. I’d prop a pillow on one arm of the chair, for my head, sit cross-wise dangling my legs over the other arm, and enjoying the warmth of the kitchen stove, while reading.
I hadn’t realized, throughout my years on the farm, that this rocking chair in Mom’s kitchen, came from my Grandma Christman’s home. I can still picture Grandma on that same rocker every time we visited. At 80, she was a stout woman, whose plump rear enveloped the chair. Her loose-fitting dress reached below the knees, exposing black stockings and shoes. Her wisplike gray hair was pulled off her face into a round knot in back. She needed a cane to get around.
She was not an affectionate grandma, but always had gingerbread cookies for us kids on the dumbwaiter in her kitchen.
We didn’t enjoy being in the house because we had strict orders to “sit still.” Grandma did allow us to look at her vintage button collection, where buttons were sewed to small pieces of cardboard.
It turns out, when Mom and Pop sold the farm, I inherited Grandma’s rocking chair.
Although I’ll never know, Grandma could have rocked my father, as a baby, in this rocking chair.
I learned the art of soothing my babies, on that rocking chair. When a baby cried I’d take them out of the crib to the living room and rock, and rock, and rock into the wee hours of the morning.
As the children became older, I read nursery stories to them while sitting on the rocking chair, with one or two children on my lap. Yes, Grandma’s rocker was well used.
When I moved from a country home to a small town, the rocker came with me. But, since the children were older, the rocker wasn’t used as much. When I later moved to a modular home, the rocker was just too big to go with me. I ended up giving it to a neighbor, who was expecting her first child.
In my new home, I always had a rocking chair in the living room and one downstairs in the den. I’m not much of a TV watcher, but on occasion there can be a conflict on a program one of us wishes to see. In this case, I much preferred watching TV upstairs, cuddled in an afghan, while rocking gently in the rocker. There’s just something soothing about the gentle motion of a rocker.
Into our retirement age, we decided to build a front porch on our home. After it was built, we had to decide what furniture we’d place on it. First, we bought a small round table with matching chairs. My husband was first to ask, “My back bothers me on those stiff chairs. What do you think of getting each of us a rocking chair?”
Just thinking about a rocking chair on the front porch, calmed my spirit. And now, as I sit here on my rocker, on a warm, summer day, I realize I started out with a rocking chair in my childhood years and ended with a rocker at the end of my years. Life is good, in the moments I’ve been given, on the rocking chairs of my life.
And now, as I sit here on my rocker, on a warm, summer day, I realize I started out with a rocking chair in my childhood years and ended with a rocker at the end of my years.