After several days of brush clearing, lawn mowing, and running from his two Dobermans named Sawtooth and Black Death, I was asked to help this man trim a tree. I've never been a fan of heights, and was relieved to hear from him that I would not only be on the ground, but I would be 20 feet below it. Explanation: the tree was about 30 feet tall and at the top of a very steep hill that ended on the front edge of his property. I was to be positioned at the bottom of this hill. The tree bordered a chain link fence and was precariously close to powerlines and his neighbor's prized beds of flowers.
My job was to firmly grasp a rope that snaked up the hill, over the roots, along the trunk, and between a crook to where it was tied around the section of branch that was to be cut. When my employer cut this branch, I was to hold it steady and aloft until it stopped swinging and then lower it gently to the ground, thus missing the powerlines and petunias. To avoid losing my grip, I looped and knotted the rope securely around my right hand.
After awhile my mind began to wander, as is its habit, and I didn't notice that my employer was cutting a section of branch about 5 feet long and 15 inches in diameter. Well, eventually I did notice it, but not in time. In the seconds before the branch was severed I did a rough mathematical calculation to compare the relative weights of wood vs. boy and determined that I was in a whole heap of trouble.
I was jerked off my feet and began skipping along the ground. As I bounced up the hill and shot up the side of the tree I'm quite positive I screamed "Nnnyaaaghtwaaahh!"
I opened my eyes and assessed that I was now about 15 feet off the ground and not dead. The rest of the story isn't as exciting and involves mild pain, followed by numbness, followed by boredom, followed by rescue, and ending with the rest of the day off.
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