There is something eminently sensible about a hammock. It is comfortable. It is (at least sometimes) portable. It is relaxing. I cannot recommend a hammock strongly enough.
When I was a child, my family sometimes spent time in the summers at a cabin in Canada (owned by my grandparents). It was always a fun time — fishing, wandering around in the woods, etc. Most of my favorite moments during those visits, though, were spent on a hammock. There was a big, creaky ol’ monster of a hammock on the cabin’s screened porch, and I used to grab a book (and there were ever so many books) and spend hours lounging on it, swinging a bit as I read.
I read the Iliad and the Odyssey (the beautifully illustrated Giant Golden Books version) in that hammock. I also read Jaws and its sequel (which were, honestly, a bit much for me at the time…). I devoured Hamilton’s Mythology, a couple of odd gothic romances, Hailey’s Hotel, bits of Leon Uris that I really can’t remember, Firefox, some Swamp Thing comics that someone left in the back of a dresser drawer, and a bunch of guides to birds, mammals, and marine life. It was marvelous!
There is something magical about lying suspended in a creaky old hammock, listening to the birds, feeling the sun on your face (green-filtered through the trees) and reading a book. Everything is so wonderfully still and sweet. It’s just so peaceful. I sometimes found myself napping as much as reading, but my dreams were all warm and full of stories, so I never really felt like I stopped reading.
I cannot recommend a hammock strongly enough. You should get one. I did!