Tales from a Farforest

LIFE WHIZZES PAST WHEN JAMES AND POLLY BUILD A FLYING FOX

It could’ve been a homeschooling opportunity to ponder on velocity and physics but our ride- greedy daughter leaped on the seat before my words formed. Her victory yell morphed into a high- pitched scream as she hurtled downhill in a blur. The speed she picked up was extraordinary. There was just time to register an impending crash before the pulley slammed into the stop- plank nailed between two trees. Filled with momentum, our daughter shot past it like a chicken fired from a canon. “Owowow,” she shrieked. Was she laughing? I let out a hopeful chuckle but swiftly rearranged my features when it became evident her gasps were, in fact, wails. Dangling several metres overhead, she took some persuading to drop into our arms. Arnica cream was liberally applied. A car-tyre was wrestled up to soften the endings and bicycle inner tubes were added to form a self- braking system but for some unfathomable reason, James also greased the pulley before he called for another tester. The children again fought. This time neither wanted to go first. Finally Vita conceded to ride it from halfway down. Her shriek could’ve been one of pleasure. “Was that better?” we asked hopefully once we’d helped her down and inspected her new impact- bruises. “You ride it,” she said through gritted teeth. Guilt saw me clamber on. My screech was involuntary. The hideous sensation of careering into trees at whiplash speeds entirely erased my zip- line enthusiasm.