The Rocking Chair

Vickie sat quietly on the porch rocking back and forth in her chair. She hadn’t bothered to change her clothes. It was still early and anyway she really didn’t care what she looked like. The silence was broken only by the creaking of the old rocking chair. In the distance, she could see the morning sun just peeking over the trees. A light breeze created a small tornado from the red, gold and amber leaves floating gently to the ground. It was September and time for the kids to go back to school. It had been many years since her children were small. She missed that time. Now it seemed almost like a dream. The kids grew up left home and now were busy with their own families. They didn’t come around much anymore.


Vickie ran her fingers across the arm of her rocking chair. The golden oak finish was still smooth to the touch. The arms were wide and lower than most chairs. This made it much more comfortable for her. The back was high made from individual slats as was the seat. Every piece was handmade and carefully fitted together. She called it the Old Timers Rocking Chair. A slight smile curled the corners of her mouth as she remembered when she got the chair.


Hunting in an unfamiliar forest, her husband stumbled upon an abandoned house. The owners apparently had been gone for a very long time. The trees grew so close the house was almost hidden from view. The boards were weathered and decaying. Around the edge of the roof, he could see a wide molding with an intricate design. It was beautiful, but now some of the pieces were missing and those still there were covered with mold. On the front of the house were the remains of what no doubt used to be a beautiful porch. He made his way through the undergrowth for a closer look. Being a talented woodworker he was always looking for new ideas. Then he saw it an old rocking chair sitting up close to the house. The side turned to the elements was gone, decayed and without enough left to see the design. However, the other side, protected from the weather, was still solid. Climbing up on the porch he carefully examined each piece. Realizing this was a unique design; he gathered up the pieces and took them back to his shop. It was there he created a pattern and made Vickie’s chair.


Vickie leaned back in her chair. The view was strikingly beautiful. Her husband had built the house a half mile off the main road in a dense forest. There were no outside sounds or buildings to mar the beauty and tranquility of this place. Vickie continued to rock back and forth in her chair. Closing her eyes she remembered many years of life as a family here. John died about two years ago. Since then it had been a very lonely place. Vickie smiled as she remembered her journals. She wanted her children and grandchildren to remember this place when she was gone. Over the years Vickie had taken pen and paper and meticulously recorded their lives together.


The car slowed to a stop and the children began to pile out. “What is Mama doing on the porch this time of night?” It was Sandra Vickie’s oldest daughter. They had been out shopping and thought they would stop by for just a few minutes. Turning back to retrieve her purse she mumbled: “It’s cold out here, she’ll be sick again.”


“Mom, come here quick!” It was Teresa, Sandra’s youngest child. She had made a beeline toward Granny on the porch.


“Just give me a minute Teresa, I can only move so fast.” Sandra’s voice betrayed her irritation. Slamming the car door she turned toward the house. Suddenly she realized something wasn’t right dropping her purse, she ran for the porch.


Vickie sat in her chair with pen and paper on her lap. She had been able to record everything all the way to the end. Now she was in heaven. Her purpose here on earth was over.