clancy mcdowell
Tyre swings and sparkly shoes by Clancy McDowell
This is me and my brother on the tyre swings in our backyard. I must have been 5 years old, which makes my brother 3. This photo was taken by my mum just after my dad hung the tyres up in the willow tree. You can see the long strands of the willow hanging down from the top of the frame.
I don't know if it's some sort of "Wind in the Willows" cultural memory or what, but I LOVED that tree. It really had a sort of a fairy-tale feel about it. The tree dominated our back yard. Part of the tree's appeal for my brother and other friends was yanking down the long strands, stripping off the leaves and using the braches as a long whip!
Looking at this image, it's not just the willow tree that evokes rose-coloured memories of care-free childhood days. It's also that when I look at it again after so many years, I see not just my brother and I, but also I see my own children in there.
My children now are almost the same age as my brother and I are in this image and I see so much of them in there. I see the girly-girl with the dress-up shoes and the cheeky barefoot boy. I see the generations extended and duplicated. I see the power of nature and nurture in one frame.
Nurture does play a role; that back yard has made me part of who I am today. But you can't escape genetics.
Eventually, the willow tree got chopped down, the house got sold, I grew up. So will my own children step away from their parents and forge their own path, and build their own swings.
Tyre swings and sparkly shoes by Clancy McDowell
This is me and my brother on the tyre swings in our backyard. I must have been 5 years old, which makes my brother 3. This photo was taken by my mum just after my dad hung the tyres up in the willow tree. You can see the long strands of the willow hanging down from the top of the frame.
I don't know if it's some sort of "Wind in the Willows" cultural memory or what, but I LOVED that tree. It really had a sort of a fairy-tale feel about it. The tree dominated our back yard. Part of the tree's appeal for my brother and other friends was yanking down the long strands, stripping off the leaves and using the braches as a long whip!
Looking at this image, it's not just the willow tree that evokes rose-coloured memories of care-free childhood days. It's also that when I look at it again after so many years, I see not just my brother and I, but also I see my own children in there.
My children now are almost the same age as my brother and I are in this image and I see so much of them in there. I see the girly-girl with the dress-up shoes and the cheeky barefoot boy. I see the generations extended and duplicated. I see the power of nature and nurture in one frame.
Nurture does play a role; that back yard has made me part of who I am today. But you can't escape genetics.
Eventually, the willow tree got chopped down, the house got sold, I grew up. So will my own children step away from their parents and forge their own path, and build their own swings.