Once upon a time, while enjoying my childhood summer, I got trapped on a rock for what felt hours or even days. It was actually rather traumatic experience, and I’ve been afraid of rocks ever since 🙂
Setting the scene
Many years ago, during the amazing 70s, my parents bought a small summer house cottage on a small idyllic island called Strynø. It was like taken from one of HC Andersen’s fairy tales. Small cottages with thatched roofs, cobblestone roads, wonderful fields and small village. The village centre had a super market, school, municipal building, and supermarket-icecream parlour-post office (all in one building). You could only get there by ferry and it only sailed a few times a day. If you ran out of groceries, you had to live of berries 🙂
We normally went during late spring and most of the summer. The family Renault 16 (yellow of course) was packed to the brim with supplies and clothes. In Denmark, you can’t be too sure you get hot weather during the summer, so had to be prepared for anything possible.
While visiting the summer house, we kids spent 98% of the day outside. Danish parenting is somewhat different, as we (kids) are left to fend for ourselves and learn as we go. Meals are served during the day, and my parents would open the door, tell us not to come back until dinner time. We had time to explore, climb, play ball, eat berries and just be kids … without too much adult supervision. IT WAS AWESOME 🙂
Anyway, during one of these wonderful hot summer days, us kids went on a stroll and ended up by a huge field at the end of a dusty dirt road. There was a big fence with a gate around the field, but that only means kids are allowed, or it meant something was so big and scary that it had to be locked away.
… but who cares about a gate when we can crawl over it and run in the field. And so I did!
I was the first one not over, but through the fence, and ran laughing across the field with the sun baking down on me. I turned around to shout for my sister and friends, only to discover that they were still by the fence/gate. They had a strange look of fear and I could vaguely hear them shout “RUUUUUUUUUUNNNNN” (in Danish of course) and pointing at something.
My eyes followed their frantic pointing and suddenly I saw this beast with horns come galloping towards me. I let out a loud yelp, turned and legged it towards a giant rock in the middle of the field. The beast was gaining on me and I could hear it’s heavy breathing and hoofs hitting the ground hard.
I jumped the last few yards onto the rock – to safety – and turned around to stare right into the angry eyes of a ram. He was not a happy camper.
Perhaps he thought I was trying to hook up with his lady sheep or just didn’t like intruders.
I shouted to my sister for help, only to be greeted by hysterical laughter and them pointing at me sitting on a rock, pinned down by an angry beast protecting his turf.
After what felt like hours, probably only a few minutes, my sister finally went for help. Another “hour” went by and I heard the wonderful voice of my dad.
My hero, my saviour had arrived. My dad can beat and scare off any monstrous ram, or other vile creature of the devil. Or so I thought. He was muttering some elaborate escape plan with another dad who had come to help, but I wasn’t seeing any progress in getting me off the bloody rock.
Without water for several “hours” my body was getting weaker and I was not sure I would survive this. In a panic moment, I attempted to crawl down from the rock, only to be greeted by the ram. He had absolutely no intentions of letting me survive this.
Suddenly I saw the other dad at the other end of the field, shouting for the ram. It worked and it started to run towards him. A few seconds later, my dad was next to. As he reached for me, the ram suddenly turned and starred a us. No time to waste, my dad yanked me off the rock and started to run with me on his back.
My dad was not built for running, a bit like Gimli with short legs, but he was going so fast that his legs were a blur to me. I could see the ram running after us, and gaining valuable ground.
As we finally reached the gate, my dad threw me over it and jumped up to climb over. The ram hit the gate and then started to eat the grass my sister was feeding the sheep. So much for a vicious smoke breathing beast!
So, I learned my lesson. Never jump a gate to a fenced off field. If you do, be sure to wear runners and large bunch of grass.