The Hammock Remembers

I didn't know I was forgetting- until a green hammock reminded me. This reflection traces longing, compromise, and the quiet return to self. I no longer need a red hammock, or someone else's adventure. I do need trees, rivers, stars, and the quiet magic of home life. And I need the version of me who knows how to be still ~

I've always loved the quiet magic of homelife- the sanctuary of ordinary.

But sometimes that doesn't feel like enough.

Sometimes, I need my jaw to drop.

I crave awe.....

This was the hammock that I wanted. It wasn't green. It was brilliant and daring- and RED. And it said everything about me; everything that I wanted to be true, but wasn't...

Henry doesn't always share this craving. "I don't feel like hiking," He'll say.

So, we compromise.

He calls it a field trip, and I call it a car hike.

Flip flops in the Summer.

Uggs in the winter.

Not exactly daring,

but sometimes we do stumble into wonder.

Like that day on Highway 89, when we pull over to the sound of rushing water.

"Must be a waterfall, " Henry said.

I lit up.

I love waterfalls!

We got out of the car, and clumsily navigated icy rocks, his hand on my elbow, until we reached Eagle Falls- just the two of us, breathing air so high and clean that it hurt.

The water emptied with roars into the indigo blue of Lake Tahoe.

Just Wow.

But we weren't alone.

Another couple was setting up camp- real gear, real boots (not Uggs), and- a hammock.

They were the kind of duo who didn't need to compromise.

She tossed him a rope.

He secured it.

They were impressive.

And they were in our spot.

Her eyes were deep brown with little lights.

His were lake-blue, draped by black velvet lashes.

They saw us.

I mean really saw us.

I felt naked, like I was dressed only in my Ugg boots.

I shrank into them.

She approached, hand outstretched, strong and dirty. Beautiful, actually.

I dug my soft, just manicured hands deeply into my pockets.

She showed me photos: hammocks hung precariously, all over the world.

Turkey at night- strung with soft lights beneath a start-stitched sky.

Arizona- clinging to that rainbow rock, bold against the winds.

And- The Congo, suspended in the hug of a jungle so deep it swallowed all sound, except the soft wind that rustled through the dense undergrowth, an occasional snap of a branch, and the chorus of crickets and nocturnal frogs.

The echoes stretched impossibly toward us.

My jealousy turned quickly into a mad couple- crush.

I didn't want us to be like them-

I wanted us to be them.

They invited me to try their brilliant red hammock that was suspended seductively-

directly over the waterfall.

"Butt First," Lake-Blue Eyes instructed. "Then swing your legs over, but not too hard- or you'll go all the way over."

I was roller-coaster scared.

But I did it.

One swift move.

Peace signs, clenched fists, deep breath.

Exhilaration and peace- all at once.

This is who I wanted to be.

But Henry and I?

We're car-hikers.

Hmmm.

But I remember.

I remember being brilliant. Being daring.

I spent five days in Yosemite, with just my sister and the stars.

I traveled solo to France, and cycled through the hills of Burgundy: red roof tops, crusty bread, and earthy wine.

I've hiked to the floor of the Grand Canyon, discovering that its heart isn't red rock after all.

It's a lush, fluid, green Eden.

The bottom of the Grand Canyon is suprisingly lush! I was replenished there! Photo taken by my good friend, Tammy Waggoner, when we hiked to the bottom and back up in one day!

Yes, I have been brilliant and daring.

But mostly- I've been in relationships-

where I tend to do what so many other women do;

putting others first.

On the way home I was quiet.

I wanted that red hammock.

I wanted cliffs, rivers, stars.

I wanted the version of me who didn't compromise.

The brilliant one.

One night, a week later, Henry led me to our backyard.

We followed his candle-lit path to the swing he had laid out, flat like a bed.

We slept sweetly beneath the stars, where I dreamed of The Congo.

I had almost everything.

Then came the Gift.

Green.

And for a split second, I felt it.

Disapointment.

It wasn't red.

It wasn't daring.

It wasn't brilliant.

It just wasn't the image I had been chasing.

But I smiled.

We hung the hammock between two oaks on the American River, twenty minutes from home.

I climbed in- "Butt first," Henry said, and I laughed out loud.

He remembered.

It wasn't a cliffside in The Congo, but it was our spot.

And in that one swift move,

when I swung my legs over,

my whole world shifted.

The trees shaded me.

The river soothed me.

The air breathed life into me.

And I was brilliant.

I didn't need a red hammock.

I didn't need to be a daring duo.

I needed presence.

I needed me.

And on my green hammock, beneath the trees,

I became the observer.

Of rivers.

Of longing.

Of love.

And of my own thoughts.

Thoughts that once pulled me in all directions,

and sometimes convinced me that I needed more.

Now they simply cradle me beneath the oaks.

My Green Hammock beneath the Oaks on The American River