Go Fly a Kite...

[domoore]

We went to my parent’s home and farmstead this afternoon. There was nothing special planned today. I simply needed to get out of the house. My sister was planning to go and plant tomatoes- and true to my nature- I arrived just as they were finishing that project.

The kids brought their kites with them today. There was a warm, gentle breeze out of the west- which would lift the nylon kites high into the air. And so- with the colorful kites in hand- the kids traipsed up through the machinery lot, past the big machine shed- and on to the hill top ridge.

It was such a beautiful day to be outside- and the perfect carefree day to go and fly a kite. The kids all ran ahead in eager laughter. I stayed behind to work on laundry. My water is a funky brown color right now. I am not sure if we are under a boil order or not- but I was sure to pick up bottled drinking water in town on my way through. And so – I worked on doing my loads of “white” clothes. I felt sullen and sad. I shouldn’t be here alone. Donald shouldn’t be dead. I just don’t understand this. And so today—grief has come to visit me once again. I just hate that. I hate the sadness that sometimes overwhelms and surrounds me.

I helped mom start some supper and we soon noticed from her kitchen window that dad had joined the kite flying party! Mom commented that she wanted to go get a few pictures- and so I took over cleaning strawberries at the kitchen sink.

I was all too happy to remain behind- and glad for the distance from everyone else. I stood there at the sink- working over those berries- until every last one was cleaned and in the serving bowl. As I finished cleaning the last of the berries- I decided I could take supper out of the oven and go up to watch the gang flying their kites. By this time, there was a third kite added to our two and a fourth dust covered one was in transit from the machine shed where it had wintered.

I made the journey through the machine lot and past several old John Deere tractors and aged implements. Further along there were several 10-15 foot long ruts dug into the path which required careful navigation since I was wearing flimsy flip flops on my feet. I carefully chose my steps so as to not slip and fall into one of the muddy ruts- full of stagnate, smelly water. As I came back out on to the level path, I went past the old grain bin where much of our stuff is still resting-- entombed in storage. “More work,” I thought to myself. “I still need to go through that stuff- sorting, sifting and deciding what to do with all of it. And surely I will find grief hiding in there- amongst Donald’s stuff.” But I left those thoughts there and the burden behind- and continued around the corner out onto the hill top ridge. I followed the path and noticed the old barn lot- full of overgrown weeds- and void of the old red barn. Dad had decided several years ago to raze the old dilapidated building. We kids managed to salvage some of the rustic old barn boards. One sister kept her barn boards in storage. Some of the boards had become part of decorative picture frames. Donald, in particular, saved several back and used them as a decorative trim in our living room in our house in Iowa. Based on what I could remember, I guessed that the barn was torn down sometime in 1993 or 1994. But I was very familiar with where that old barn stood- and the fact that it is missing- did not escape my notice- though it has been gone for years. I continued on- looking off to the right and down in the pasture where the horses were grazing. The pond was pretty in the late afternoon sunshine. Frogs croaked songs across the water -- the bull frogs- each in turn—echoed a chorus in their mating song. Their music made my heart merry and light.

Soon, I found myself on the ridge top with everyone else. I had intended on announcing that supper was ready—but I was lost in the moment. The nylon kites made a soft rustling noise as they danced further and further up in the breeze. We would all laugh and shout “OH- NO!” when a kite darted toward the ground- nose-diving and then dancing back into the air. The knee-high wheat in the field was full of fresh, tender heads- and was a beautiful sea green color- gently rolling with each new gust of wind. I found my spirits lifting as I stood out there in the dusty lane on that hill top ridge. It felt good to be in the sunshine and gentle breeze. I invited the wind to caress my bare face, neck, arms, and hands, legs and feet and to blow away the dreariness which had settle on me earlier.

The kids were frolicking in the sunshine and fresh air. They were taking turns at flying the four kites—and were showing a great deal of patience when a kite came down. Dad went around helping each one in turn get the kites back into the air- advising each flyer- as they took off in a dead run into the wind- how best to send their kite skyward. Soon, all the kites were sailing high in the air. We could see a few jet air planes thousands of feet in the air. Some of the younger kids wondered if their kites were “in the way!”

I found myself delighted with the fun everyone was having. It was such a perfect day!

Toward the east, I noticed the old county courthouse on the horizon. I also noticed the moon rising- heralding the beautiful evening ahead. I silently soaked in the moments- each seamlessly passing into the next. The kites continued to ripple in the breeze- and the kids continued gazing upward -- awestruck at the power of the pull and gentle tug of a kite on a string. I wanted the moments to continue- I wanted to linger there. I wanted to fully soak it all in- to absorb the sight, smells, and sounds all around me. I willed that time slow down so that I could savor those moments.

As the afternoon gently transitioned into evening- one or two kids would leave for the house in search of food. At several different times I found myself holding fast to the empty thread spool of a kite. I noticed that one of the airplane kites made a whirring noise as the wind whipped around the string. Another kite was very difficult to hold on to—as it had three levels of wing span for the air to grab after and fill. I never held on to a kite for very long- as kids were always coming back to fly again. It really was a very relaxing thing to do though- and almost addictive in nature. Toward twilight, my sister and I finally decided it was time to wind things up- so to speak. So, we began to reel in the kites. Jane began with her son Reid- and I offered to help my nephew Avery. Avery was glad to hand the empty spool over to me—but somehow we managed to lose the spool and kite in the hand off! (This is why I never ran in a relay race!) I began to yell, “No, NO! NO!” And I took off through the wheat field- chasing after the end of the kite string! I found myself laughing out loud- at the ridiculous situation I was in! Each time I was nearly within reach of the spool- the kite would catch wind and the string and spool would jerk out of my reach again! Of course- the kite was gracefully floating down from the atmosphere the entire time—but I was enticed by the possibility of catching the end of that string- and yanking the kite back into the air! I suppose that by instinct, I thought I would grab that empty spool and turn and run into the wind- launching the kite back into the sky. It was an impossible chase- and soon- the string came to rest- as the kite plummeted to the ground. My sister was still on the ridge top- and her kite had done a hard nose-dive to the ground. I could hear her laughing at the whole spectacle- and I found myself laughing too! There I had been- in flip flops- running through a wheat field chasing after a kite! It struck me as so funny!

I began the work of mindlessly winding kite string back onto the spool. As I did so- I began to study the landscape—my mind wandering through the trees- and the small creek before me. As a youngster, I would often times wander off- and play. Many times I would cross the fence on the East side of the farm- and roam onto my Great Uncle Gene’s land. It was this very ditch and creek that had captured my attention and my imagination so many years ago. I would wander through the cattle paths cut into the pasture and pretend I was going to a “secret park.” I would follow the ditch until it fell off into a deep creek. I knew just where to cross- where the water was shallow and where the water was deep. There was an area- I called “Pebble Creek” and another I called “Babbling Brook.” Both areas were littered with hundreds of smooth stones. It was there that I found a nearly perfectly round rock- about the size of a marble. I can remember studying rocks in elementary school- and bringing this special quartz rock to class. The teacher told me that my little rock had taken thousands of years- to wear down to that small, marble sized rock! I still have that little rock- safely tucked away. My siblings and I would sometimes wander through that creek bed in the spring time- looking for morel mushrooms.

It was the springtime of 1994- probably the month of May—which marks the last time I was on that land. I can remember that I brought Donald to this creek bed. I can remember being afraid to share this part of my past with him—it seemed so juvenile and silly. We were engaged to be married- and I wanted to take him to this quiet place of solitude, refuge, and peace. To his credit, Donald listened intently and seemed to enjoy “the park” with me! We wandered through the “park” area- and then down the ditch- into the creek bed. We took our time searching through the trees, tall grass, and May Apples for mushrooms. Donald brought a small camp stove with him- and I surely carried the picnic basket with me. We followed that creek as far as we could before we came out into a pasture where there was an old pond- surrounded by tall, regal cottonwood trees. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived to this secluded spot. Donald prepared the little gas camp stove and placed two medium sized foil packages on the grill to cook. In the meantime, I took the tablecloth and spread it out over the grass. We sat there visiting about our future together. Though I do not remember any of the specific details- I plainly remember the feeling of overwhelming peace and love as we sat there in the fading light of the afternoon. It was a special time. He had lovingly prepared supper for me- taking time to thinly slice potatoes and onions and place them in one foil packet. In the other packet he had placed thin strips of venison which he had marinated over night in barbecue sauce. When the meal was finished cooking- Donald served me first- and waited for me to taste this meal he had prepared. I can remember how good it was- the meat was tender- and full of flavor. The potatoes and onions- were seasoned to perfection- and had the slight hint of bacon to them. But the best part was having Donald by my side. It was such a sweet, special time. We sat there sharing our hearts and our dreams over a romantic picnic dinner.

My nephew Trenton came running down past me- through the wheat field- disturbing the dust on the ground- and me in my thoughts! He offered to send the kite skyward again. I had to remind him that we were going in for the night- that it was time to put the kites away.

Yes—it was about this time of day when we packed up our picnic and came back home—14 years ago.

I continued winding the kite string until I had the kite in hand. It was the “dusty” kite! I thought the wind would clean it off- and if not that- then a good hard nose-dive might clean it off—but unfortunately that was not the case. The kids ran ahead – while Jane and I collected the kites. I took my time going back. I didn’t want those moments to end.

Such precious memories- such sweet thoughts. I enjoyed looking back and remembering when I was in the springtime of my love with Donald. Everything was so fresh and sweet and new. I suppose I am a hopeless romantic at heart. I couldn’t help but take a few minutes longer and enjoy the view- the rising moon- the beautiful pasture- and creek. I felt tears gathering in my eyes- clouding my vision. I wanted to stay in that moment. And I really want to hold on to that memory of Donald and myself. It was so real. It was so right.

But each moment continues to move into the next- and it comes to pass- that things change- and never remain the same.

And so, I turned my back to these things- and pressed on- into the gentle breeze- westward-ho! I followed the path back toward the house—warm in my thoughts and memories. I found myself fully enjoying the early evening.
It is springtime once again.

And so- I find myself—in springtime again. Like that kite- I came out into the daylight- covered in dust. The dust covering me was sadness and grief. But unlike that dirty kite- I allowed the wind to refresh me- to renew me- to carry me off in my memories- and deliver my heart and mind to a springtime 14 years ago- when my love was fresh and new. And I am reminded of the bright vibrant colors which are me. I am reminded to take in air- to breathe in fully- and breathe out! To dance on the breeze- to delight in the moment!
(c)copyright 2008 Julia Moore. All rights reserved.