My father used to get a new hammock every couple of years and set it up under the lone sycamore tree in the backyard, but I never saw him use it. Maybe that was because his hammock was the cutesy kind, sort of a surrey with the fringe on top, only without the wheels. The dark-blue canvas was taut and unforgiving, and the chains that held the hammock to its metal frame made it … [Read more...]