Ahh. The Hammock. What may seem like an ephemeral summer reference to many of you, it is my every day hidden reality. Hidden, because my hammock is tucked perfectly between two trees just a little apart from my lawn. When you look out my back door - you can't see it, or me when I'm in it. It's part of the appeal with four children at home in the summer. (It's been a month now though, they're starting to catch on.)
I bought the hammock for my husband for Father's Day last year, because it's the quintessential Father's Day gift. He already had the fishing rod from the year before, and had bought himself a boat. I prepared the site by measuring and cutting the intervening trees down myself. (Yes, if course with a chainsaw. I believe all ladies, even those equipped with handy husbands, should be able to handle chainsaws, power tools, and blowtorches. The last is good for crème brulee.) Then I set it up. I think Jim tried it once, but that relaxed summery hammocky feeling didn't stick with him. He was too (happily) busy moving about in the yard. So I tried it, dirty from gardening, hot and sweaty with little bits of dirt on my face where I wiped it with the back of my glove, and my work boots still laced up. It was love, bliss, and happiness! I found my reason for summer.
Even on the hottest days I lie in my hammock, undisturbed, shaded, listening to only the heat bugs. This afternoon I had a bowl of cherries, a book, and a cup of tea with me in the hammock, all balanced nicely. A word of caution: you ought not swing with hot tea, especially if the shirt you're wearing is white. In this total and absolute perfection, my book in hand, two hummingbirds flew nearby. I also have had a chickadee land right on the edge of the hammock while I was in it. I felt like Snow White! What total perfection. I think sometimes I would rather be there than any place in the world, really. When there's a breeze from the ocean that blows the compost scent in the other direction, it's complete and total perfection.
A summer of great books that will keep you in your hammock and up late at night:
The Kitchen House, by Kathleen Grissom
Caleb's Crossing, by Geraldine Brooks
The White Rose, by Jennifer Donnelly
Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, by Helen Simonson
A postscript: We were recently given a second hammock with a ready stand by my in-laws who were moving, and could no longer accommodate it in their new yard. I kept it for a few days, kitty cornered near mine in full sight. (Not hidden. Point?) My family thought it would be great to have two, so two people could enjoy them at the same time. Mind you- no one EVER goes in the hammock but me. Not by my directive, but by their own. I couldn't take it. The hammock was MY space. For me, alone, to read in joyous quiet solitude; a break from the delights of a family of six. I gave the new hammock away to a friend. I hope she enjoys her new hammock. Alone!
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