Marilyn Thompson

Michiana Chronicles: Rocking Chair

Jul 2, 2020
Marilyn Thompson

In our house is a rocking chair. It is all wood, with no padding, and it has no arm rests. It squeaks when you use it, and you don’t have to look too closely to see that its base is held together by wire, fashioned by a farmer who took whatever was handy to fix a split in the wood.

The rocking chair shows its age, but it is one of the most precious items in our house, because it belonged to my grandfather—a grandfather I rarely saw.

Michiana Chronicles: Daffodils

Nov 27, 2019
Oli Scarff/Getty Images

It was an afterthought to take the daffodils. I was already backing out of the driveway when I noticed them in full bloom along the side of our house. I got out of the car and went inside to find scissors to cut them. Then I moistened some paper towels to wrap around their stems and placed all of that in aluminum foil. It was a three-hour drive, and I didn’t want them to wilt.

Michiana Chronicles: The Porch Swing At The Lake

Jun 14, 2019
Mindaugas Kulbis/AP Photo

It is early morning at the lake. All but the fishermen are still asleep inside the house. I am sitting on the porch swing. It is long and wooden and white, with a red floral cushion. A nudge from my foot prompts the swing to move slowly. There is just the slightest squeak as it goes back and forth: nothing annoying, a gentle sound. I like it.