And, a lot of rope. The rope was for a well-remembered but much neglected Honduran hammock. I bought this striped, epitome of comfort during my year of service. A handy-man for the orphanage there made me make-shift S-hooks (is that even a real thing?) and we roped it up around a tree during the dry season, and inside the house during the wet season. The rope was found missing on a few occasions during the dry season - mysterious pairs of child-sized feet were scattered all around the base of the mango trees where the hammock had hung. For whatever reason, the rope was more valuable and of greater interest than the hammock itself :)
So, finally, almost five years later, my hammock is brought out from it's white plastic bag. This is the first place I've lived in since Honduras that had a place for the hammock. Right below the deck at the Tukwila house, there is a perfect place made for hammock-swinging...
Or, so we had hoped....
A few tries later, knots were secured, and we managed to take our first swing in my Honduran hammock.
