Oh, summer. You make me want to shed the skin of a house and simply live outside. In a tent on the banks of the river, ideally, but since I’m probably a century or two too late for that, I guess I’ll settle for migrating into the yard.
Ever so slowly (but steadily), I am assembling the pieces of my outdoor home. Last year, it was the picnic table and then its accompanying shelter. This week, it was this old hammock chair, the sofa of summer life.
I have owned this hammock chair for upwards of 15 years. It has hung outside at least three homes. It had a great little spot near the cabin, where I sat in it regularly the first couple summers we lived there. And then that spot got rather overgrown, and we got better porch chairs, and I just sort of let it go. When we were cleaning up the cabin this spring, I cut it down and stuck it in the shed. Where I noticed it a couple weeks ago and thought it might be good hanging from the picnic shelter. I’ve been itching to build some benches to add more outdoor seating to our place, but this could be a quicker start to that.
So I asked Dean to hang it, and he did, because he’s good like that. And I tried it out that evening – let’s be honest, mostly to be polite. And pretty much immediately started scheming how maybe I could just move out there. How do those things happen, how do you just forget how happy something makes you?
It’s been a week. And all day, the hammock chair beckons. Come, sit. Bring a glass of cold tea and a bowl of cherries. Bring a book, or a notebook, your lunch, a bit of knitting. Sit. And once you’re there, inevitably, just watch the clouds or the birds or the wind in the grass. Just listen. Maybe a quick nap. All while happily swaying in the breeze.
Welcome back to life, hammock chair. We’ve got a whole stretch of summer in front of us, and it’s going to be good.