Photo and text by Corey Amaro
A repost from 2006, as I am picking cherries today.
French Husband and I went hiking in the calanques,
(along the rugged coastline between Cassis and Marseille,) our starting point was
a charming obscure little port called, Morgiou. French Husband told me to bring a
book, he said, "I'm going to rope down the Cap de Morgiou,
while I do that you can sit behind a rock, and read in the sun."
The day was cold with a strong Mistral blowing. Sit in the sun he said… and read a book, while he ropes down a sheer face
cliff? Every voice inside of me was screaming, "Don't go!"
I grabbed my camera and went.
My husband's back pack was full of rope, hooks, clips, things I don't
know the names of, plus water, some granola bars, a helmet and other rock
climbing paraphernalia. His backpack was bigger and heavier than me. I carried
myself, my camera and a book.
(If you click on the photo you will see French Husband hanging midway, on a rope. Doesn't that look easy breezy?)
to slip and fall, or be blown off the cliff. French Husband casually said, "Okay,
this is where I am going to drop down, if you want Corey you can hike
over there and watch me." Looking around I did not see any rock to sit
behind, nor any cozy place to keep warm. "Oh. Okay." I said with a smile, but underneath I had to encourage myself, "You won't fall, your strong, you're not a blond-haired-butter-ball, you can do it, you're a big girl, the wind
isn't going to blow you off the cliff.
on the other side. I saw for the first time the reality of what French Husband does; He was HANGING on a rope! My mouth hit the stony ground and I felt like I was going to vomit. Then the second truth came to mind, "SACHA does this too!" I didn't want to look, but then again, I dared not too. I was terrified!
It reminded me of my Father… every Friday
night after he had milked the cows, we would hop in his pick-up truck
and go to Cycle-Land, a flat track, motorcycle, speedway, where he would
race. Sitting in the bleachers I would feel the same feeling that I had on those cliffs! Terrific fear. The sense that my stomach was in my mouth.
I don't dig the feeling of fear.
Half way down the cliff the wind caught French Husband, he started to swing
back and forth and was twirling around and around! Who could read a book
while that was going on? There were some other hikers behind me, they
commented on how crazy that person was… "Is he out of his mind to be rock climbing in this wind." I agreed
with them, and didn't mention that the crazy person was my husband.
Standing there watching French Husband I
forgot that I was cold, I forgot that I was very close to the edge, I
forgot that I had a book, and I nearly forgot to take a picture of him
hanging there!
As he hung off the cliff, being twirled around by the Mistral, he waved at me. He was mad, as in crazy mad, not angry mad. Yes, flat out, crazy mad.
I prayed:
"I will never complain about any form of housework again, if he makes it
back alive God. Then I thought, "Great! Now, I am bartering with God over the life of my husband and housework."
Slowly he made his way back to the
top, he was smiling and his enthusiastic energy was evident, as I ran back to his side of the cliff. The first thing he said was,
"Did you take a picture of me?"
I stared at that mass of fearless
wonder,
"Yann!, You looked like a worm on a hook! Ready for some
starving fish to jump out of the sea and swallow you up in one
delicious gulp!" He didn't hear my fear, nor see my anger, nor my desire to kill him so that he could never die by doing that crazy maddness again. Instead he shook his pretty head, and laughed with pleasure!
My Frenchman, and no complaining about housework again. But then again, God knows me.
Leave a Reply