On a whim last spring, I purchased a square hammock which is 10 feet on a side. It’s meant to be suspended from four points. The obvious choice, of course, is four trees.
The phrase “live and learn” comes to mind. After all, trees are easy to come by, but four trees located within reach of straps in each of four directions from a central point are a bit more of a challenge.
My family has put the hammock up a few times. It’s impressive to look at. This past weekend, we hung it so that it was just above ground level on one side, but it reached out over a hill and was about 10 feet above a downward slope on the far side.
In the quiet of the afternoon, two kayakers came by on the lake. I could hear them talking between themselves about how the appearance of my family’s cabin has been changing since we took ownership. Most noticeable to these two was the more open view of our building site; we trimmed back quite a few dead branches, so we would have a better view of the lake. Turns out, a “view” goes in more than one direction.
I was flattered they noticed the improvements and intrigued by how well their voices were carrying.
As they floated on past, they saw the hammock. Quite understandably though, they did not know what it was. “Is that some kind of roof?” one of them asked. “Why is it hanging there?” That was yet another understandable question. The natural ground cover below the hammock clearly did not require a “roof.”
“It’s some kind of tarp,” speculated the other kayaker.
Both ideas seemed fairly feasible, since, when no one is on it, the hammock hangs very level, well, at least flat.
At that point though, I could stay quiet no longer. I stepped out where they could see me and called out, “It’s a hammock.”
In response to their confused “A hammock?” I replied, “Yes, it’s for laying on. It’s made to hold four or more people.”
Their uncertainty dealt with, one of them called back, “Well, it looks like fun! Enjoy it!”
Deciding I should do just that, I approached the nearest edge. The published capacity of the hammock is more than 600 pounds, so I had the academic understanding that it would be perfectly safe for me to climb aboard.
But it was out over that hill. Anyone who went through it, or fell off the edge, would probably roll 20 or 30 feet across brambles and scrub trees only to land on the rocks at the shallow edge of the water. Not a pleasant possibility.
Still, I had received clear instructions to “enjoy” the hammock. I gradually convinced myself to crawl on at the ground level side. And of course, being a hammock, it curved downward under my weight. There near the “top,” I was actually still touching the ground. Noting I was still unharmed, I rolled gingerly outward until I was fully suspended.
Above me, a circle of trees extended skyward. Since they were a combination of deciduous and evergreens, they provided a richly varied frame around a small patch of sky.
I took a deep breath, looked upward, and took a moment to appreciate I was not rolling rapidly toward the lake. Then it sank in I was beautifully comfortable. The temperature was just right. Something was keeping the mosquitoes away. It was quiet and, although there are always tasks to be performed, none of them were an emergency.
I continued to lie there and appreciate the sky and its framework of trees. Various sounds filtered my way, but all of them from a distance–and none of them of any concern to me.
So there we were, just me and the sky. It had been a long time since I had had the time and the mindset to appreciate being in the moment.
I can’t tell you how long I stayed there. It might have been five minutes, it might have been most of an hour; time seemed irrelevant.
Eventually I took on the challenge of getting back off the hammock. Because the surface area I was on had sagged under weight, it was now an uphill climb back to “ground level.” I have to speculate that, if the kayakers had come by as I planted my hands and knees and rocked sideways, they would have really wondered what was going on. Let’s just say I’m glad there was no one there watching to see how oafishly clumsy I must have looked. Those feelings mustn’t have mattered much though, because two hours later I invited someone from a neighboring cabin to come share time on the hammock with me.
The text read, “If you come over, I will show you something completely new.”