Lying Around in a Hammock

“You ought to get rid of those animals,” said a visiting city relative, who claims to aspire to own a farm some day. He was bothered that I go to the barn every morning and every evening to check on and feed the livestock. He didn’t like the idea of not being free to drive off on a long road trip at the merest whim. I have to wonder what a person like that wants with a farm.

A cardiologist friend once asked if he could spend weekends working on our place for the fresh air and exercise. “It’ll be fun to work on a farm,” he said. He showed up bright and early one Saturday morning, but didn’t last until noon. Funny, the good doctor never came back for another weekend workout.

A local college student, hailing from a distant state, needed a place to stay, so we offered room and board in exchange for weekend labor. He got his room and board, but when it came time for the labor, he’d mysteriously disappear.

For the benefit of exhausted visitors, we used to keep a hammock hanging in the shade of an old aple tree. Guests would remark, “It must be fun to live in the country and lie around in a hammock all day.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I’d say, which was always good for a sideways glance. Truth is, I don’t know anyone who lives in the country and has time to lie around in a hammock, let alone all day.

That hammock did tempt me, though, every time I carried grain to the coop or brought eggs back to the kitchen. It tempted me when I hoed corn or gathered tomatoes on a hot summer day. It tempted me when I mowed grass and trimmed the fence line.

One day it finally got me. I fixed myself a big glass of cold lemonade, brought along my favorite book, and tried to quell guilty feelings of sloth as I eased myself into the lap of luxury.

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back on the ground, having fallen through the weather-worn hammock. Some people, I guess, just aren’t meant to lie around in a hammock.