Back in 1966, during John's final months in the Marines, we bought a hammock at Pawley's Island. John was stationed at Beaufort, SC and we were living in a non-air conditioned house. He went to work in a air conditioned trailer -- I spent most of my days reading in the hammock under the big oak in the yard. Really, it was too hot to do anything else.
When we moved to the farm, we put up the hammock. The conditions were less than ideal -- the only big trees near the house were on a slope which made getting into the hammock challenging and getting out, downright dangerous. Besides, we had a three year old to deal with, a garden to tend, a cow to milk, and a house to finish. The hammock hung there forlornly and, come winter, we stored it in the barn where the rats chewed it to bits.
But it's such a tantalizing thought -- to head out to the hammock with a good book, some sandwiches, and a jug of lemonade . . .
Never mind that, even without the cow to milk and the three year old to tend, I still stay pretty busy. Never mind that we still don't have a proper level site -- when I saw this hammock the other day, I was consumed with a completely irrational lust for the dolce far niente sort of a life that a hammock implies.
A big tree, like the one in the picture, is essential. Birdsong, a gentle breeze, sunlight twinkling through the leaves, maybe the smell of freshly-mown grass -- I take another sip of lemonade and turn the page. . .
One of my friends used to fantasize about an elegant croquet game with the ladies in lacy white dresses and strawberries, champagne, and little cucumber sandwiches for refreshments . . . my grandmother wanted to sit in the shade by a river with a cane pole . . .
What's your idea of a perfect lazy summer day?
