Another Day in the Country
Finding comfort
© Another Day in the Country
It seems to be important that as human beings, we discover what types of things bring us comfort — whether it’s our favorite slippers or our religious belief. Comfort is a precious commodity.
Down comforters bring me solace, I’ve discovered. In fact, like a child who can’t go to sleep easily without a favorite teddy bear, I find it difficult to sleep under strange, heavy, polyester bedding — so much so, that years ago I took my favorite down quilt to California with me and left it at my daughter’s house so I can sleep under it when I’m there visiting.
Same goes for down pillows. I squish all the air out of my smallest one, and it accompanies me on any trip I take.
Even if I can do without a down comforter for the night, the pillow is a must when it comes to traveling comfortably.
Favorite and comfortable go hand in hand with necessities. My favorite footwear are Birkenstock sandals for summer and Ugg boots for winter. If I had to only have two pairs of shoes, those would be the choice.
A wheat sock brings me comfort. A wheat sock, for those who don’t know, is a sock filled with wheat! You can heat it over and over for two minutes in the microwave and take it to bed with you, promising to sooth your cold feet or your aching back so that sleep comes.
I retreat to two favorite places for comfort at my house. The first is my bedroom. It’s on the east side of the house, so it gets morning sun.
Sunshine in the early hours is comforting while waking up to an alarm clock is nerve jangling.
I like waking up to sunshine in a room, light coming through the curtains, throwing shadows on the far wall.
That morning light symbolizes the freshness of a new day and all the things to look forward to during its hours until darkness once again descends across the prairie, and I have to turn on lights until bedtime.
My other favorite spot is a hammock on my front porch. I lived on this earth for 40 years before I discovered the comfort of a hammock. Until then, I settled for favorite couches or rocking chairs.
I was traveling back from Mexico, where I had discovered people using hammocks as beds because they took up less space.
I wondered, could I really ever sleep in a hammock? I decided I might just take a hammock home as a souvenir, but in all the excitement of traveling, I forgot about getting one until I was at an airport, ready to fly back to the States.
Lucky for me, I found hammocks for sale in an airport gift shop, and I bought one.
It took a while for me to get proper heavy-duty hooks installed on my porch back in California, but finally they were in, and I hooked up the hammock.
It was fun to lie in, pretty to look at, but more decorative than utilitarian until I moved to Kansas and into my mother’s house.
By this time, I had what I’d call a “serious hammock” made of sturdy, colorful, woven cloth. It was spacious enough for two people if you wished, but I love inhabiting it alone with a good book.
If the day is breezy with a chill in the air, you can lose yourself in the deep folds of the hammock with its cocoon of cloth walls shutting out the cold.
If the day is warm, you can hang your legs out over the edge or pull up one side to give shade while the gentle rocking soothes any worries.
When age-related backaches come calling, surrendering yourself to half an hour in the hammock is a miracle cure.
Perfectly supported, you can relax all your high-strung muscles into those cloth arms that are willing to give unmitigated support.
In my opinion, every house should have a porch, and every porch a hammock — just like I believe that every yard should have trees and flowers.
I’ve tried stringing my hammock between trees, too, and my sister has a hammock on a stand, but I still prefer my hammock on the porch, between two posts. Being under cover comforts me.
One summer, I put up hooks for three hammocks all along the porch on the east side of the house. I was hoping, when my grandson came to visit, that we might sleep in hammocks all night as an adventure, but we always end up going inside.
We did spend a rainy afternoon out there that summer — Jess, Dagfinnr and me — during a storm. I love lying in the hammock and watching it rain.
When winter wind howls around the eaves, and snow is blowing, the hammock is gathered up, folded into itself up on its hook — waiting for a day, even in December, when the wind stops blowing.
I pull out the hammock and lie back — mittens, muffler, parka, even snowboots suspended, surrendering to the soothing pull, the gentle rocking motion, finding comfort on another day in the country.