Let's not go fly a kite

Well, I realize that it is the month of May now. March is a couple of months behind us. But we are still enjoying March-like weather. If we were going to be stuck in a perpetual weather pattern, I would never pick March. But even though I can predict the weather, I can’t change it.

You would think that we would be making lemonade when life gives us lemons and be finding a way to capitalize on all of this wind we have been having. Something like wind farms, or natural wind tunnels. Actually, I don’t know why the Uintah Basin isn’t the kite-flying capital of the world. We could be having two-month-long kite festivals. Think of the potential—similar to the Utah ski industry with the best snow in the world. “Uintah Basin—the best wind in the world.”

We could draw people from as far away as China where kite-flying is the national sport. There could be all kinds of kite contests like, you know, most original kite, most colorful kite, etc. And then there could be different competitions like youngest kite flyer, oldest kite flyer (that is where I come in) and last but not least, best kite flyer.

Sign me up; where is my kite?

Oh, but hang on a minute. I am having second thoughts here. I am trying to remember when I myself actually ever flew a kite—you know, actually had it off the ground more than six feet and for more than six seconds. Romantic notions of little boys tugging on kite strings entice me once in a while, but then I recall my own experiences with my little boys and kites.

I don’t think I ever went outside on a breezy day to see even one little boy from my family happily holding onto a kite string while a dutiful kite dips and soars in a sunny sky. Instead, I do remember seeing sights of something like a tangled wreck of sticks, string and plastic flapping itself to death on the ground. And, yes, that is my son, and he’s howling.

Until they are able to manufacture kites out of steel and cable, I am afraid the Butterbeans will never have one last through the first week of kite season. Perhaps the Chinese have been holding out on us. Maybe all of the kites they ship to the US are the self-destruct models, and they keep the real ones for themselves. I don’t know about steel, but I’m pretty sure all of the ones I bought had lead in them.

Benjamin Franklin knew that kites were dangerous. I tend to agree with him. Not only could you get struck by lightening, but running around the vacant lot with your eyes on something above your head, for however short a time, and both hands on your ball of string, can be dangerous. There are things you can trip over like rocks, sticks, weeds, or dogs, with nothing to break your fall but your face.

If you (not me) should be lucky enough to get your kite airborne without breaking a strut or the string or your nose, you’re still in jeopardy.

Kites are liable to be acted upon by forces emanating from things like tall tree branches and telephone lines which both have properties similar to black holes. Once your kite is sucked up by one of those structures, it will remain there for the rest of the year, a constantly fluttering reminder to you and everyone else that you lost the battle for the kite.

What’s that saying, “A fool and his kite are soon parted”? Same thing—unless it was a free kite.

Say you somehow come into possession of an unusually sturdy one, and your kite makes it through kite season intact. Have you ever tried to keep it in the closet, saving it for next year? That is nearly as dangerous as flying one.

If there is a kite in the closet, it will jump out at you when you open the door. It will land on your head or shoulder, and the string will wrap itself around one arm and both legs before it hits the floor and unwinds itself into the next room. You can fold them up or roll them up and put them behind everything else on the shelf and slam the door; but in the darkness, they expand, just like a crinkled grocery bag, and perch on the edge of the shelf waiting to attack the next time the door is opened. I have been kite-assaulted many times.

If ever I tell you to go fly a kite, you will know you have been properly insulted; and if ever we should have a kite festival in the Uintah Basin, remind me to be the one who brings the hot chocolate.