Flying in Bad Weather

Christa heard the back porch door close form her post in the laundry room as she was loading the washer. She looked out one of the laundry room windows and took note of the weather. Snow was falling from the sky at a pretty good rate. She could tell by the angle of decent that the wind was blowing fairly fast as well.

“I wonder who is going out in this weather,” she mused. “I thought the kids were more or less settled in for the afternoon.”

She walked into the kitchen and over to the sink. She leaned on the sink and gazed out to see if she could determine which of her five children was silly enough to be going out in this weather. She wasn't quite prepared for what she saw. The child in question was her fourteen-year-old, second son. He was dressed in his flannel-lined carpenter jeans and his royal blue hooded Carhartt. That was normal. What took her by surprise was the canvas kite he had in tow. The kite was shaped like a biplane and the wings and body were striped like a rainbow. The wingspan was just over three feet and the body of the plane was just as long. This was a fine kite to be sure. The weather just didn't seem like the ideal weather for kite flying. Sledding would be a much more appropriate activity for a day like today. Christa glanced out the back porch storm door and saw the Flexible Flyer Leaning up against the summer house which simply reinforced her confusion.

“I wonder if he's actually going to get that thing in the air,” Christa wondered as she walked back to the kitchen sink. 

 

She looked out through the kitchen window at her son as he stood with his back to the wind and held the kite out in front of him, waiting for a clean takeoff. Sure enough, the snow notwithstanding, the kite slowly pulled away from the teenager as the wings caught air. 

 

“Hmm,” she mused. “Who would have thought that thing would fly in this weather?”

While his mother was wondering what would possess him to try flying a plane in the middle of an Ohio winter, Scott was thoroughly enjoying himself. The hill he was on was his normal kite flying hill. It was directly west of the old farmhouse and had proved to be an excellent place for flying a kite. The hill was completely clear of wind breaking obstructions and the alfalfa stubble that covered the ground provided a fairly mild surface upon which the kite could crash land. And crash land, it did.

Scott, holding the home made, wooden string handle, walked to where his kite had landed. He picked the biplane up and held it in the wind until the pockets in the wings filled with air and the plane tugged on the young man's arm. He let the kite rise slowly into the air, being careful not to let the string out too quickly. He wasn't wearing any gloves and had learned the hard way how warm the string could get if it was allowed to slide in between his fingers too quickly. Besides, the kite didn't like to stay in the air if it got too much slack all at once.

“Mom would probably say That's a good metaphor for what it's like to be a teenager,” Scott muttered to himself with a reluctant smile. “She's probably right.”

The string tightened against the wooden handle as the kite reached it's previous height. Scott let out some more string and glanced at the reel, taking stock of how much line he had left. He had begun with five hundred feet on the string handle. That's why it was home made. The string spool that came with the kite wasn't big enough for the spool of string he had picked up to enhance his kite flying performance. Besides, the plastic handle bent and twisted against the force of the farm hill winds. The wooden handle was holding up just fine, though.

Scott had about two hundred feet of string between him and the kite. Suddenly, the kite took a dramatic dive for the ground. Scott pulled the string with considerable force causing the biplane to recover just in time and rise quickly back into the sky. He gave the string a few more tugs in rapid succession to ensure the kites continued climb through the snowy sky. 

 

“Whew,” Scott sighed in relief. “That was a close one.”

He waited for a few moments before letting out some more string. The rainbow colored biplane grew smaller and smaller as it's leash grew in length. Finally, the last of the line was in the air. Scott examined the wooden handle in his hand with mild curiosity. Yes, he had made it himself so he knew what it looked like more than anyone else, but it wasn't very often that he saw the handle without the string. There was still a little string on the handle, of course. The string was tied to the handle, but Scott always left two or three windings of string just in case his knot wasn't Boy Scout grade. All the same, it always looked a little funny to him. That didn't take away his moment of triumph, however.

“Ha!” he exclaimed as he took stock of the string before him. “Five hundred feet! Oh yeah!”

Scott stood on the hill, surveying his accomplishment with a huge smile on is face. Now that the work was done, it was time for the main event. Though reality had it's advantages, the teenager took every opportunity to escape into the variety provided by his imagination. He looked up at his biplane and imagined that he was the pilot. He grasped the joysticks in the cockpit firmly as the air rushed around his head. Round goggles protected his eyes as his white scarf flapped in the wind. The fleece collar of his leather bomber jacket covered the back of his neck where the scarf missed. He looked out across the sky and saw a black biplane appear in front of the sun.

“Oh no,” Flying Ace Henning muttered under his breath. “The Red Baron!”

Scott often used history to supplement his imaginary adventures. He had learned about the Red Baron from a book that he had about World War One pilots. He had been particularly intrigued by the German Ace pilot who was widely known as the Red Baron. He was so intrigued by this pilot, that he almost broke his rule of always playing the good guy so he could take on the Red Baron's persona in his imaginative endeavors. Almost.

Back in the confines of Scott's imagination, the two planes looped around, preparing to square off against one another. Flying Ace Henning gripped the joystick just a little tighter in anticipation as his forefinger hovered in front of the joystick's trigger. He hated this part of war, but he knew what he had to do. The two planes flew towards each other, each waiting to see who would fire first. The Red
Baron did. Scott's reaction was immediate. The rata-tat-tat of the two machine guns sounded out across the winter sky. The two planes passed by within feet of each other, both unharmed. They both looped around for another pass. 

 

Scott's adventure was interrupted by a shrill whistle that rode on the winter wind. The whistle was a sharp, two note tone that brought the teenager back to reality immediately. The teenager's father often whistled to let his children know they needed to report to wherever the older Henning was at the moment. The distinct noise was easily distinguished from other farm noises and was more discrete than yelling for the children at the top of ones lungs. Scott whistled back, hoping that his father heard. He turned back to his kite just in time to see it nose dive into the snow covered alfalfa stubble.

“Well,” Scott commented to the field around him. “I guess the Baron won this one. Until next time.”

The young man saluted the sky and looked out across the field at his kite and the heaved a heavy sigh at the five hundred feet separating him from his aircraft. He began the arduous task of winding up the string, trying his best to do so quickly. Ten minutes later, he picked up his kite, and headed towards the house. Despite his unfortunate landing, he was quite pleased with himself. Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing, he chuckled to himself.

He rushed down the hill, being careful not to loose his footing in the snow. He made it to the house without any embarrassing mishaps and rushed into the back porch. He hung the kite by the handle on a hook before opening the wooden door that lead into the kitchen. He stepped from one rug to another on his way to the basement door, being careful not to allow any snow to fall onto the dark green, linoleum floor. He removed his snowy boots and put them in their place on the shelf and turned towards the kitchen table where he found his whole family, sitting there with varying degrees and amusement on their faces. 

 

“So,” Dale ventured. “Flying a kite today, huh?”

“Why not?” Scott asked, only slightly embarrassed. “The wind out there is perfect for flying a kite.”

“But it's snowing out there,” Caleb challenged his younger brother. “And not just a little. It's really coming down out there.” 

 

“Yes, yes it is,” Scott agreed as he slipped his coat off of his shoulders. “My cost benefit analysis found it to be worth it. I could wait all summer long for wind like that and never get it. Do you know how much string I had up in the air today?” He continued without waiting for an answer. “Five hundred feet! I hardly ever get five hundred feet out.” (It should be noted that Scott was only able to use the term cost benefit analysis because he had read it in a book a few days before and had asked his mother to explain what the term meant.)

Scott took his place on the right end of the cherry bench.

“So , who won today?” Kelsey challenged her older brother with just a hint of mockery. “You or the Red Baron?” 

 

“The Red Baron,” Scott sighed with dejection. “I got distracted by a whistle.” 

 

The whole table erupted in laughter as the family bowed their heads for prayer.