Springtime in the Front Range country, and you better believe the wind carries more than the smell of stock yards and brewery steam; it was a
straight up kite frenzy festival!
Kite kits had been made by a local group called Strong Bones out of
Tyvek house sheathing and
shish-kebab sticks. Who cares if I had to cut in line ahead of some girl scouts and kids still wearing their Saturday soccer gear, I had to get my hands on one of those kite kits!
No kite would be complete without some incredibly realistic nature scenes. And anywhere there are trees, you'd better believe the foresters are right around the corner checking out tree
health to ensure that future generations will have abundant timber supplies. Oh, and Big Foot likes to eat foresters too.
After my masterpiece was completed it took flight, lifting onto the crisp zephyr while the entire field of children fell silent, in awe of the most gorgeous kite ever made by a childish adult.
Everything was going pretty well until a vicious gust blew in off the plains of Kansas and my kite began to do what one parent called "death spirals" plunging to the ground, like a hand made crayon-coated zeppelin. I really don't know why he called them death spirals, my kite only nailed his daughter in the head once or twice until I moved to another part of the field-- gosh, so sensitive. Stop crying, we're supposed to be having fun!
Well, my day was complete.
Kite kits had been made by a local group called Strong Bones out of Tyvek house sheathing and shish-kebab sticks. Who cares if I had to cut in line ahead of some girl scouts and kids still wearing their Saturday soccer gear, I had to get my hands on one of those kite kits!
No kite would be complete without some incredibly realistic nature scenes. And anywhere there are trees, you'd better believe the foresters are right around the corner checking out tree health to ensure that future generations will have abundant timber supplies. Oh, and Big Foot likes to eat foresters too.
After my masterpiece was completed it took flight, lifting onto the crisp zephyr while the entire field of children fell silent, in awe of the most gorgeous kite ever made by a childish adult.
Everything was going pretty well until a vicious gust blew in off the plains of Kansas and my kite began to do what one parent called "death spirals" plunging to the ground, like a hand made crayon-coated zeppelin. I really don't know why he called them death spirals, my kite only nailed his daughter in the head once or twice until I moved to another part of the field-- gosh, so sensitive. Stop crying, we're supposed to be having fun!
Well, my day was complete.
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