The Practicality of Tree Swings

Jess Pettit-Tarquinio contemplates the spiritual lessons we can learn from simple things like the swings where our children love to play.

"Isn't it funny how the street is named 'Montclair' when we are literally in a city with no mountains?" I mused to my husband.

We were sitting with our (then) two children after having traveled nearly 1,500 miles across the country to look for a new home smack dab in the middle of America. After my husband had accepted a job transfer, we had all but one weekend to pick out a house — our first house, mind you — before he had to start work the following month.

That morning we were already on house number six. As we stood in front of it, still pondering the lack of “clear mountains,” we took it in. It was a simple, unassuming ranch but had a cozy sort of feeling to it; a large deck looking over the small front yard, the remnants of a flower bed shedding its beauty as it prepared to rest through the late fall and winter, and a striking red door to welcome us inside.

As we walked about the interior, I started envisioning our lives together there: the meals I'd prepare in the kitchen with the white cabinets; the small green bedroom the boys would do anything but go to bed in; the large finished basement for LEGO building and running around in on cold winter days. It surely was a contender.

It wasn't until I walked outside and saw the gigantic silver maple — its two biggest branches sticking out on the left and right as if to greet me with a hug — that my heart called the house “home.”

Tree Swings: Fun, But Not Practical

We immediately put in an offer, and it was accepted that very day. When we moved in one month later, we put swings on each of the two enormous branches of the tree. At first, they were baby swings, little blue-and-red plastic buckets that locked our boys safely inside. As they grew bigger, so did the accommodations, trading one for a climbing rope leading up to a large branch and the other for a big, comfy, circular seat that could go surprisingly high. Two years later, we had our baby twins, and with them, arguments as to whose turn it would be to use the swings.

Sometimes, things as simple as tree swings can explain our faith better than a deep theological discussion. There’s nothing practical about a tree swing to compare to a sacrament; we don’t need tree swings like food, water, or oxygen. There’s nothing to do with one but sit down and soar, trusting that the swing will hold your weight beneath it.

But that’s the nature of God. He didn’t make a boring world of boring things and boring people. He made beautiful rainbows, awesome sharks, majestic snowstorms, dogs that chase their tails, and rotund, impractical bumble bees that somehow buzz about on itty-bitty wings. And He made people to laugh at all of these incredible and ridiculous things—and I imagine He laughs with us at them, and at us, too, because in a way, we are also incredible and ridiculous things as we try to defy gravity with planes, gliders, and tree swings.

None of it was necessary, strictly speaking. God didn't give us these things for our survival. He is not the God of bare minimums. His love and grace are superabundant: look at the vastness of the night sky and try to number the stars! God could have just given us the Earth and nothing more, but instead, He gave us the cosmos to marvel at. We may inhabit a broken world, but oh happy fault! He fills the cracks until they run over with His glory.

Holiness Isn't Practical

The simple tree swings in our yard were testaments to that. As a mother, my brain is always telling me I should be using every second of my time on something practical or productive, but time watching my children playing on those swings was never wasted: It was holy, sacred, integral to God's ordering of the universe and the beautiful joys He allows us. Holiness isn't practical, but an overflowing love that comes from God's sheer delight in us and our capacity for innovation and fun. He gave us eternity is the next life. Why wouldn't He give us tree swings in this one?

We moved from that house on Montclair out into the country, where the trees are sparser but the sky is endless. Our yard holds eight little trees, and sadly, all of them are too young to support a tree swing. But I can imagine that in time, the silver maples will grow tall as the one in that simple ranch house so our grandchildren can swing under their branches, just like their parents once did. Not because it's necessary, or practical, but so we can delight in them, as God delights in us.

Share your thoughts with the Catholic Mom community! You'll find the comment box below the author's bio and list of recommended articles.

Copyright 2026 Jess Pettit-Tarquinio
Images: Canva