Where the tent leaks: The Lawn Chair Chronicles

By the Outdoorsman

With the sun finally sticking around longer than a guest who says they “can’t stay,” it’s officially that time of year again: The Great Gear Awakening. You know the one—when the garage door yawns open after months of good intentions and forgotten promises, revealing a jumbled treasure trove of last summer’s dreams and last fall’s regret.

Somewhere beneath the tangled hoses, expired fire starter logs, and that mystery tote labeled simply “camp stuff” lies your noble companion: the folding lawn chair.

This is no ordinary chair. This is a veteran. It’s been to every Little League game, every campground from here to the state line, and survived three family reunions without so much as a bent leg or unspooled cupholder netting. You remember when it was new—navy blue, firm but forgiving, a hint of new-fabric smell and a satisfying click as it locked into place. Now it’s faded, one arm is sticky with mystery sunscreen, and the seat sags just enough to remind you that gravity is still undefeated.

Still, you love that chair.

First stop: the backyard. You drag it out onto the grass like a king reclaiming his throne. This is your vantage point for early season lawn surveying, neighborhood waving, and the subtle art of pretending to weed while mostly just sitting. It’s also where you sip coffee while the dog does its morning perimeter check, and where you’ll eventually do battle with a grill that refuses to light on the first try.

Next: youth softball season. Nothing quite says “I love you, kiddo” like hauling your chair across an open field, past the snack shack, and finding that perfect spot where you can see home plate without getting beaned by a foul ball. There, you’ll sit with your fellow parent-warriors, swapping stories, sharing sunscreen, and pretending you can remember the score without asking the ump every inning.

And don’t forget about its role at campgrounds, parades, or spontaneous roadside stops where the view just demands you sit a while and stare at nothing in particular.

Some people look forward to summer because of the beach. Some, the fishing. Some, the vacations. But for folks like us, it’s about that first creak and collapse of a well-loved lawn chair, the feel of the sun on your face, the sound of a game in the distance, and the knowledge that—for a few golden months—you’ll have every excuse to do absolutely nothing and call it tradition.

So dust off that chair. Pull it out with reverence. Because summer’s here, and your throne awaits.