Mark KennedyNo, this is not about getting high on drugs.
It's about a natural need among boys to get elevated and isolated.
When I was a kid, tree climbing was a big deal. We lived in a neighborhood that was mature - read, lower-middle-class. One of the advantages we had over families out in the newer subdivisions was our access to climbable trees.
While they had ornamental shrubs and saplings laid out like cake decorations, we had thick-trunked oak trees that had matured out in the open and had plenty of low-hanging branches to climb. As soon as we were tall enough to jump up and grab the lowest branch, we became members of the tree-climbing club.
To test our bravery, we would try to climb up, up, up, stopping only when the highest branches began to sway under our body weight. Whoa!
It's a tribute to our parents that they let us climb trees. Today's suburban parents, I fear, would hyperventilate if little Emma or Brodie disappeared high into the foliage.
When our favorite climbing tree got sick in the 1960s, I remember planting fertilizer spikes all around the yard to save it. Losing that tree would have been like the death of a family pet.
I can remember reclining on big, lower branches that seemed carved by God to fit my spine. Staring up through the branches and watching the clouds move by, I was meditating before I knew what the word meant.
Now, fast-forward 50 years. Tree-climbing has fallen out of favor for safety reasons. Interestingly, we say "yes" to backyard trampolines, but "no" to tree climbing. But, boys being boys, they will still find a way to satisfy their need for elevation and isolation.
Enter the hammock, or in its modern form, the ENO, short for Eagles Nest Outfitters, an Asheville, N.C.-based company that sells a lightweight hammock made from parachute-quality nylon that collapses into a little bag about the size of a cantaloupe.
ENOs are sold in outdoor and sporting goods stores and can be coupled with so-called SlapStraps, quick-release devices that can be attached to trees without damaging the bark.
These ENO hammocks are spreading through suburbia like bag worms on evergreens. If you see a big cocoon-shaped thing up in a tree with a lump in the middle, it's probably a kid in a ENO.
My 9-year-old son had been begging for an ENO for months before an infusion of birthday cash brought his dream to life. He was able to purchase his ENO several weeks ago but had to wait until his actual birthday to use it. For almost a month, the hammock sat on the top shelf of his closet, and sometimes he would just stand and stare at it.
"I sure will be glad when my birthday comes," he'd say wistfully.
When his birthday arrived earlier this week, he tore open his ENO bag, and he and his older brother immediately hung the hammock between two red oaks in our front yard.
Mommy and I were immediately summoned. When we rounded the corner of the house, there was our younger son, hanging upside down in his ENO with only his head sticking out of the nylon cocoon.
"This is called the butterfly," he explained, then quickly flipped back into an upright position.
Since then, we have barely seen him. When it rains, he moves the EMO to the front porch. Tucked inside the nylon cocoon is clearly his favorite place to be.
My older son, who just turned 14, tells me that two of his friends have mounted their hammocks 30 feet up in a nest of trees - which probably means 20 feet, but who's counting?
The more things change, it seems, the more they stay the same.
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6645. Follow him on Twitter @TFPCOLUMNIST. Subscribe to his Facebook updates at www.facebook.com/mkennedycolumnist.