January 28, 2012
The first kite I ever flew was a paper Hi-Flier box kite back when I was about 5 years old some 57 years ago. It pulled exactly like a mule going up a ladder--I could feel it bucking in a gusty Wichita springtime breeze like a thing alive. I was hooked immediately and irrevocably! My love of flying must be autosomal dominant. My father was an Army paratrooper and aviator. His older brother was a Navy pilot. Since then I have been one of the Playmates of the Clouds (as the Poet in Decatur, Illinois describes it) ever since. I piloted general aviation aircraft, sailed, windsurfed, kited, sky dived, flown radio control aircraft and gliders, flown in a passenger in hot air balloons and sailplanes, and on and on and so forth and et cetera . . . My restless, relentless Laptuan eyeball checks out every change in the wind, clouds, aircraft, birds, hawks, eagles, butter and dragon flies, the sun, moon, planets, stars, satellites, Messier objects, comets, meteors overhead.
Everywhere. Most recently in Stapleton and open areas in Boulder where I live. Back when I was in Vietnam, I lofted a kite I purchased over the mail. I have flown everywhere from the beaches near San Francisco, empty mesas in New Mexico, in very dead air along the Colorado River right below Hoover Dam, over sandy dunes in North Carolina, in coastal breezes in Nova Scotia, on the Mall in Washington DC, soared a Gayla keeled delta in Ohio, launched deltas at night that disappeared in pitch black Kansas skies (what a trip!--one could only focus of the subtle alteration of the tug on the string and the resonate hum of the breeze on the line) . . .
I am a wind and sky freek from way back. Like one of Jonathan Swift's Laptuans, I go through life with one eye fixed on the ground and one eye focused upwards. I like the view aloft much, much better