Alice and I flew George Washington the other morning. We were in the field behind the house, and GW was flying wonderfully.
I put the string in her hand, thinking momentarily I should take some sort of precaution to prevent the kite from flying away if she let go.
"Ah," I thought. "Kites don't fly very well without someone anchoring them on the string end."
She let go. That sucker flew.
It drifted lazily over the roof of the house. I ran as fast as I could to catch it.
It flew toward the tree in the front yard. The kite cleared the top. Its dangling string lingered momentarily in the branches before continuing on its way toward the neighbours' yard.
GW stuck in their front tree. The string tangled around the telephone wires that cross the road in front of their house.
There was no way to get it down. I held out brief hope of a southern wind blowing the kite out. Four hours later, the wind changed and blew GW onto the power lines right smack in the middle of the road.
There was no question as to where the kite came from. There it flapped, like a giant badge of Dave's An Idiot For Letting His Kids Fly Kites Near Power Lines.
Yesterday morning, we watched from our front window as GW flapped in the wind.
Henry/Jane: Go, George Washington! Go! Go, George Washington! Go!
Dave: It's not the same...
Later the same morning the wind blew the kite to a perch dangerously close to the power transformer on the pole across the street. I called Maritime Electric. It was a lazy, sunny Saturday morning. I think the very nice man in the cherry picker was happy for something to do.
That's what I tell myself.