Tales from WannaBea Farm

I pulled on the left cord, hand over hand until I was able to reach the toggle, put it between my teeth and went for the other one. At last I had them both and was able to steer some, but I had been so late leaving the plane that I was no where near the airport, much less the target. With the large parachute I just floated around, occasionally I would actually rise a little when I encountered an updraft and I was enjoying the ride. It looked as if I was going to come down in a corn field.

I looked again. Omigosh! It WAS a corn field, and it was bounded on the west side by electric high line wires. On the south was the highway, on the north side was a railroad track and there was a freaking train coming, and on the east side was the wrecked C-130 jump plane that I had heard about.

It looked like I was going to hit the power lines and I started my own mantra then. Remembering what they had taught us, I kept repeating to myself, "stiffen up, hit'em hard, break the lines, and pray”. But still I kept trying to steer away from them, and I finally did manage to come down in the middle of the field. Jumping up, I waved to the plane to let them know that I was okay. Dipping his wings in acknowledgement, the pilot turned back towards the airport so that Mr. Macho could make his jump.

Jump Master checks Joyce’s parachute in preparation for her second jump. Contribued photo Obviously there was nobody waiting to help me or teach me to pack my chute since I was almost a half mile from the target area. “By the way,” I wondered, “Where is Mr. Macho now that I needed him?” I gathered up my chute like an arm load of dirty laundry and started hiking out toward the road. It was like carrying an armload of slippery, dirty laundry, with strings dragging. And I stepped on the strings and tumbled head over heels. Gathering it all up again I managed to take another four or five steps before stepping on another string and tumbling again.

It was so hot, sweat was stinging my eyes so that I couldn't see and every few steps I would step on that darn parachute and fall again. Thirsty…. I was so thirsty. I stopped, took off the helmet, and looked around for some corn. At least it would have some moisture. I would suck it dry! Alas, there was no corn. So I stumbled on towards the road, falling, gathering up the chute, stumbling into the next fall until at last the highway was in sight.

Now a barbed wire fence separated me from the highway. How on earth was I going to get that parachute through the fence without tearing it? And where was everybody? Surely somebody could have come to help me by now. A curse on every one of them….and their ancestors!

But wait, this is not my parachute. If they want their parachute then they will just have to come find me. Leaving the chute inside the field, I crawled through the fence, stripped off the jumpsuit and helmet and curled up in the cooling shade of an oak tree growing beside the road. Using my reserve chute for a pillow, I was immediately sound asleep.

They eventually came for me, bringing me cool, wonderful water. Let Mr. Macho have his beer, nothing ever tasted as good as that water. While I had been stumbling through the corn field, cursing them and all their ancestors and future progeny for abandoning me, they had been driving up and down the highway looking for me but the corn stalks were taller than I was and they couldn't find me.

Over the next few weeks I made four more jumps, and every time, while hanging on to the strut, all I could think about was my face hitting that wheel. How illogical is that? I was still having trouble leaving the plane and several times I was on my back when my “chute opened, looking up at the clouds instead of the ground below. But at least it kept me from being afraid of anything else I guess.

Not realizing that I had already made my last jump, we arrived one Saturday morning to be greeted by the sight of a used C-130 jump plane. “Whoopee”, I yelled, jumping up and down excitedly. “Now I can jump without the demon wheel”. I was like a little kid, I was so excited.

“Nope”, Bob said, “you can’t jump from the C-130 until you learn to stabilize yourself as you leave the Cessna. Well, that wasn’t likely to happen and I argued, pleaded and begged, until finally I explained to him just where he could put that Cessna. Mr. Macho made his last jump that day while I sat in the car pouting like a two year old. He explained to anybody that would listen that we wanted to do things together and if I didn’t want to jump then he wouldn’t either.

A few months later I came home from the grocery store and was putting away my groceries when I overheard him talking to a friend. “I was so scared I thought I was going to throw up”, he was telling his friend. “If they would have let me have a few beers first it wouldn’t have been a problem. Anyway I finally convinced her to jump first, ‘cause I knew she wouldn’t do it and then I wouldn’t have to”, he explained. Then I heard him say….

“And that crazy woman jumped”!

I hope you’ve enjoyed my story and if you have missed any of it you can find it and all the other stories online at www.leoncountytoday. com where you can also leave comments if you wish.

And remember, I’m married to Mr. Wonderful……… Mr. Macho was replaced long, long ago!

Can you blame me?