Rockin Chairs

In the early 1700’s someone took a long  look at a chair, and wondered how to remake it so it would rock back and forth, but remain stable and upright at the same time. The first rocking chairs were born from regular chairs with bowed skis placed on the bottom. After that, the chairs began to be refined and built just for rocking and comfort. Some credit old Ben Franklin with the invention, but historians think the chairs were probably around when he was a young man.


It may have been a sleepless mother or father of a new infant, who could see the advantages of a chair that gently moved back and forth in a swaying motion of comfort. Many folks enjoy kicking a chair back on its hind legs and sitting that way; as long as the chair doesn’t slip or the legs break . Whatever the inspiration, I’m grateful for the invention. There’s nothing like a rocker.

A rocking chair just symbolizes calm to me. It beckons you to come sit and take a load off your feet… and your mind. There is Rocking Chair Therapy for convalescents, and for people with diseases that cause the urge for repetitive motion. The motion of rocking has proven to aid digestion, and keep muscles and tendons flexible in the elderly. Songs have been written about these moving chairs; Old Rockin’ Chair and Rockin’ Chair Blues for instance. I had a friend who would refer to men, that he didn't think worked as hard as they should, as "being in the rocking chair" ; making movements, but never really going anywhere.

Whatever your personal likes about a rocker, everyone agrees that it is relaxing. Cracker Barrel, and a few other restaurants, found that having rocking chairs on the porch and in the waiting areas didn’t only make the place look folksy and welcoming; they soothed weary drivers and impatient folks waiting to get a table. Executive offices often have desk chairs that rock; a tension reliever for sure. People just feel compelled to sit and rock when they see these chairs, especially old wooden ones. We Americans love rockers. Patty and I have four rockers at home.

Our back porch has two rockers adorning it. Patty and I love to sit in these chairs and take in the sight and smell of the blossoming fruit trees in the spring and the flower beds in summer. We sit in these comfortable seats to break beans and shuck corn after the harvest, or to pick walnuts or pecans. We sit in them a lot at the end of each day and talk. Our joys, fears, sorrows and even disagreements are often expressed from the comfort of these rockers. Yes we love to sit there and talk. And sometimes, well… we just sit.

 I love to watch the fading sun lower on the western horizon from my rocker, and feel the quiet of  evening settle the business of the day. We love our outside rockers. We have inside rocking chairs too.

One old chair belonged to my great-great-aunt. She and her husband owned a furniture store in the early 1900’s. I’m guessing that this ornate oak piece was one they purchased way back then. Anyway, it has a bit of history with it. My aunt was sitting in this particular rocker when someone tried to kill her. A shot was fired through the window at her; the bullet hit the Bible in her hand at an angle, and deflected to the next chair. The deflected bullet killed her husband, my great-great-uncle. A cousin went to prison for the murder; but most folks believed it was his girlfriend (who my aunt vehemently disapproved of) that actually pulled the trigger.

My aunts' old chair is nearly as sturdy as the day it was built. We have it in our living room facing the fireplace. Sometimes I sit in it just to feel the same wood, the same comfort of that old chair that my ancestors felt nearly 100 years ago. And it does seem to be a lucky chair to sit in after all.

The fourth rocker at our house is an old oak rocker that I received as a gift from Patty not long ago. I wrote about it a little in the blog titled “Mark Twain Christmas Walk”. I found it in a Hannibal, Missouri antique store. The chair reminded me so much of the rocking chair that my Great Grandma Armstrong had in her room, and sat in so much of the time. The last time I visited with her she was sitting in that old rocker, laughing and talking.  I resisted buying the 'Mark Twain' piece, but my wife knew how much I wanted it, and arranged to have it purchased for me for Christmas. It's a grand old piece of sitting furniture, and I often wonder what stories that old chair could tell.

It is a love affair that I have with old rockers. When I think of the books read while sitting in them,  or the stories told from them, I know that rockers creak through many miles in their  lifetimes . 

 I think of the fretful babies quieted, the songs softly sung, letters from overseas anxiously read, and the evening hours spent reflecting, in a wooden chair that  moves peaceably back and forth. Like an old boat riding the waves of time, an old rocking chair gently moves generations of folks through a lifetime of memories. Kids love them, old folks love them, and I think we all need them... to help bring a little piece of mind to ourselves now and again.

This piece of Americana is a wonderful addition to any house that becomes a home. A house without a rocker seems to me to have an empty space, a void inside it. To me, an old rockin' chair is just, well, part of the family.

If you’re ever by the Chicken Ranch, drop in. Pattys’s a great hostess and the chickens are friendly. If you drop by some evening, there’s a mighty good chance I’ll be on the back porch, just sittin' in my chair, lookin' out over the flowers to the West…rockin’.

My Great Great Aunt Noras' Rocker                                                                                                                                                  My " Mark Twain" rocker

    
          


　

Slumberless Night

It’s three in the morning and I awaken to the sounds of my wife’s peaceful breathing, and the oscillating fan purring back and forth. I look at the red numbers of the clock, and then roll over to try to get back to sleep. My mind, however, begins to mull over all this past weeks events, and things I have ahead of me to do . After some time, I realize that slumber isn’t coming back soon, so I ease out of bed. I pull on my jeans and t-shirt and walk barefoot to the kitchen. I quietly open the fridge, pour myself a glass of milk, and walk through the dining room into the living room.

The large windows in the room reveal a blue-sequined sky of shimmering black velvet. The twinkling stars in the dark of this night are reminders to me of a vast universe, of how small Man is, and just how great God is. Countless men, over thousands of years, have gazed into these same heavens; have looked upon the same moon, and wondered at the vast expanse before them that is hidden by the light of day. The stars have fascinated us all, and stretched our imaginations. They have put us in our place, and put life in the proper perspective.

We are but finite creatures made of, and living on a planet of, rock, water, and soil. Our earthly body is not long here, but we have a soul that lives forever, and staring into the endless heavens on a clear summers night, helps us better understand what the words eternal and infinite must mean. If we can see and believe in a never ending universe, well it's not hard to believe in a never ending life with the Creator; the creator of all things great and small, simple and wondrous.

The breeze is gentle. The tree limbs sway softly, delicately, and the flag waves lightly; the red and white stripes shrinking and lengthening in the wind. I raise the window to catch the breeze, and as the fresh night air surrounds my face, my ears catch the haunting songs of the night birds. The birds are in several trees within a hundred yards of the house. One calls a sweet melody to my left, and another joins in straight ahead, then another on my right, and yet another, until a chorus spreads through the cool night stillness. There is a pause and then, sweetly, they begin all over again. I listen enchanted, and I am in awe of Mother Natures ability to soothe the soul in sight and sound, in beauty and simplicity.

After an hour of breathing the night air, and soaking up the music of wind and song, I realize that I am relaxed; that I've lost the burden of fretting, and that my eyes are weighting. I slowly close the window , latch the sash, and head back to the kitchen. As I wash out my milk glass, I see a raccoon amble across the yard on his nocturnal jaunt. He is nearing the end of his shift, I think, and in an hour or so I'll be beginning mine.

So, I return to my place for slumbering, and settle back in bed with the music of the night birds fresh in my head. I play the beautiful haunting melody over in my mind again, until I fold deep into my pillow, and blessed rest is mine once more.