Homestead Hazards

The Rope Swing! The cousin of a similar age and similar coating of dirt on clothes and body announces it is time again to make the trek to the second most fun place at the Homestead, the first being the pond if it happens to have water in it. The 2 dirty little kids scoot off over a meadow mostly oblivious to the uneven rocky ground, the wild flowers and the resplendent remnants of cow pies.

Access to the wild and crazy swing ride is an obstacle course in itself, down a small gully which begins the climb up the 45 degree grade of the tree covered hill. The ascent up to the monstrous rope-decked tree is only about a tree and a half length, but it seems formidable to look up at the task and even more formidable as one contemplates launching oneself out over space and the nothingness of mid-air flight. The row of cousins who are waiting their turn sit on a rough outcropping of dirt which has been tamped down by many pairs of feet in a steady stream of dare-devils. The factors to consider include whatever muscle strength the flier possesses along with arm length, dry or muddy-wet grip and hand position on the thick, knotted rope.





Ignoring every other sound and sensation and throwing caution to the Homestead breeze, the cousin whose turn it is gauges the several conditions for a successful 3/4 second flight before being slammed into the dirt on the opposite side of the thick trunk Ponderosa pine tree.

Upon recovery of breath and upright position, the latest rope swing astro-nut grins through the dirt and accepts the cheers that rise up from the surrounding spectators. Bumps and bruises, scrapes and scuffs are the aftermath of the thrill of the ride, but they become like badges of honor, signs of the glory of conquest, wounds about which to tell and retell to whomever will listen. As far as I know, no has been killed on the rope swing and only an amazingly few injuries. Some trespassing, cry-baby boy scout broke his arm one year and the rope was subsequently taken down only to be put up again later by the loyal risk-taking die-hards in the family.

The summer between Dallan’s junior and senior year of High school, our family had gone for a whole week of stay at our favorite mellow spot, Grandpa Whiting’s cabin at the Homestead. At the beginning of our coveted week Dallan made the jaunt to the rope swing and bit the dust more than the usually expected crash. His careen into the hard packed mountain surface was somewhat injurious, so to speak. Holding his injuriously owied wrist, he made it back to the cabin on his own, needing some triage for body slam damage. It looked okay but it was sore and hurtie. Selfishly (on my part, for sure) we didn’t want to make the 45 mile round trip into Springerville to have it examined only to have the doctor tell us it was just fine. Dan has had EMT training so he felt around on the wrist and we told Dallan to tough it out! A month later, the tough guy had an oddly looking, obviously badly repairing wrist which had to be fixed with surgery. So much for dirt slamming thrills and one survivor’s gargantuan tales. If you’re brave enough come take a flight and take your chances --- it’s fun! No cry babies allowed!