I think the last time we hung our hammock was somewhere alongside the Boise River in Idaho last Spring. We were procrastinating packing our house.
I remember this hammock sending my little niece face first in to the sand at our campsite in Havasu a few years ago. It was her first time.
This same hammock hung inside our hangar in Colorado. I think we spent more time in that hangar in the summer of 2016 than we did in our house. The hammock came in handy.
Then there was the hammock that came before this one that I bartered for in Mexico. It hung in our yard in Evergreen for four years, eventually succumbing to the elements. I have a photo of Mark lying in that hammock, fully dressed and ready for our wedding ceremony.
I’m sure if I sat here long enough, I could think of a dozen more moments. Isn’t it funny how an object can be the vessel in which so many of our memories reside? Maybe that’s why people hold on to things, so that they can remember. That’s why photographs are the most important thing I own. I can carry them with me for as long as I’m alive, and always remember all the people I’ve loved, all the places I’ve been and all the little moments that have made my life what it is.