Every year we look forward to the third week in July, when we go camping on Mount Desert Island – specifically, site A-13 on the shore of Somesound, at Mount Desert Campground. It’s beautiful. This year, I strung a hammock between two trees, right on the edge of the shore. During high tide, the water laps the shore only feet away from the site.

It should be easy to earn relaxation time in the hammock. It is vacation, after all, and we’ve worked hard all year, so who says you can’t relax in the hammock hanging out over the ocean all week, reading a pile of books on the reading list?

Yet, as much as I’d like to give myself permission to have such a vacation, I couldn’t allow myself that luxury. My well-deserved hammock time comes only after a nice long bike ride on the many carriage paths or a hike in Acadia National Park. And each year I put myself through an endurance test. If I want popovers and tea at the Jordan Pond House, I must first complete the “Around the Mountain” trail. It is the most challenging ride in the whole trail system.

For the most part, no matter the weather, it is beautiful here. With so much to do, I never much care if the sun shines bright or not. Cool temperatures, fog and tempered dampness are fine with me. And up until this past week, I actually told family and friends that even rain doesn’t bother me on this vacation.

It could well be that I’ve been put to a test. Earlier in our vacation week, as we set up tent, I told my husband that some summer I would like to camp out in a tent for eight weeks straight. Aside from thinking that I was nuts, he was quite sure that I really wasn’t serious. I was.

You see, I like the simplicity of camping. And when it rains, I like hearing the rain patter on the thin cloth, while the tent ripples in the breeze – provided, or course, that the inside stays dry. Thanks to wooden platforms at this campground, our large, eight-person tent (which I call “the condo”) has managed to stay dry. It’s quite cozy for a family of five – it would not be fun with eight. Nonetheless, no one could argue that this vacation brings us closer together.

An early morning storm mid-week, however, had us divided. At 1:30 a.m., following hours of violent thunder and lightning, consensus ruled that we abandon tent and head up to the car. My theory was that we were down low and were dry inside, so why run to higher ground and get wet? Each lightning flash fully illuminated the tent, and the storm, complete with heavy rain, seemed endless. Fear that heavy winds would follow overruled my choice.

To the car we ran as bolts of lightning and crashing thunder lit our way. There was an intense energy in our sprint. It was not fun. We dove into the car, like drowned rats, waiting for the storm to pass. The windows fogged as rain pounded the car. We attempted to curl up in the seats and sleep – yah, right!

“You really want to live in a tent for eight weeks?” my husband asked, thinking that this thought had surely worn out.

When the rain let up, we returned to the tent. It was dry inside. We stripped down, leaving a pile of wet clothes in the center. We found dry clothes in plastic tubs. Returning to the warm sleeping bag, I put my head on the soft pillow. The rain ceased, the crows and seagulls took up song and the early morning fog set in. The landscape drooped and dripped from the intense rainfall, the soggy hammock blew gently against the foggy ocean backdrop. I picked up my book and read, putting a hearty dent in the reading list, thankful that the weather had given me permission to do so.

Vacation can’t get much simpler than that. Maybe next year I’ll give myself permission to spend more time in the hammock.