And the Wind Blew

It's got to be in the upper seventies today. And breezy, too.

I'm on my back porch, I thought I'd spend my downtime outside. I'm sitting here, in my little camp chair, labtop in hand (or lap, of course), my RC Cola's fizzing in its Baja Fresh Cinco de Mayo cup-- and all I can hear is the wind. Well, the wind and birds and back-hoes beeping and running in the site at the end of my street. But mostly the wind. Or do I only hear the trees and the grass and the azalea bushes, the vines and honeysuckle behind my house?

This was the sound I missed the most when I lived in Oklahoma. You could only hear it in a few places, my favorite, St. Crispin's Camp where I spent hours and hours outside. There were trees there, although not as many and not as tall as ones in Virginia, but they were there. Oklahoma is windy, but not the kind of windy you'd associate with here. There, the wind is relentless; it never stops, even for a moment to catch its breath. The sound it makes comes from its echo in your ears. Sometimes it's so loud you can't hear yourself think, other times you just tune it out.

My brothers used to fly kites when we lived there. Although not exactly a normal kind of kite with a tail-- but man, did they fly. We had a tarp in the back yard, the typical blue kind you'd buy at a hardware store; we'd pin it down with heavy stones we found in the school park behind our house. It was for the sand box, to keep the kitties out. My brothers took some rope and tied two pieces to opposite gromits in the corners (we blame the Boy Scouts for teaching them knots so well). The wind immediately filled the huge 10x10 piece of fabric, James held one rope, Phillip the other--the force dragging them down the access road past our backyard. They ruined a couple pairs of shoes this way, leaving their soles to the asphalt. Tarps, too.

They later got the brilliant idea to let Danny hold both ropes. Danny was no more than eight years old, and small for his age. I remember whenever Danny flew it always seemed he was in the air forever. Hearing my brothers laugh and giggle and yell all the while running after him down the road-- that was my favorite part.

After seeing Danny airborne for the first time, Mom grounded my brothers' hobby for good. No more tarp-adventures for these flyboys.