Every year, from the trees that hang over the Lower Saluda, they appear. 

Rope swings.

Handles are made from anything (hopefully) load bearing. Bicycle handles. Ski ropes. Sometimes sticks seem to be the only thing available.

Two-by-fours nailed to the trunks of trees act as makeshift ladders leading to the tops of trees, where branches act as anchors for ropes. 

Some swingers hurriedly climb to the tops to retrieve the ropes, while others rely on other to fetch it for them. 

There’s no correct entry into the river. Flailing wildly is the most popular entry, followed by cannonballs and flips.

The world, like summers, needs more rope swings and swimming holes.