Growing up in Nickerson was pretty much a challenge. One of my favorite thing was to follow Jake and his buddy's down the highway and while they went up the creek to the swimming hole, I would dangle my pole in the water and with a little imagination, I could feel a fish bite. Looking back I am not sure whether I was fishing in Cow Creek or Bull Creek, but either way there was nothing biting but maybe an old turtle. Could have been a crawdad. At the height of the spring floods it was probably only about 13 or 14 inches deep. That was one thing you can still count on in Kansas, it will flood in the spring. Several years back I took 96 Highway instead of 50 and wondered why I did that. See, the towns are 7 miles apart because that was what the railroad required when it was building across the country. Had to have a town every 7 miles so the train could get water. People built the towns and then just never left them. Never got any new blood either, so they just set there.
Jake was a great one for building kites. His always had to be bigger and better than anyone else's. That was back in the time when building a kite did not mean unwrapping the cellophane and taking it out of the package. He was especially fond of the box kites and those took several days to complete. The sticks had to be whittled and then glued and allowed to dry. Then the tissue paper was placed, glued and that was allowed to dry. Mother would choose a few colorful rags for the tail which had to be strategically placed. Then the string was tied on and we were ready. Jake always insisted on the very best kite string because, as Benjamin Franklin can tell you, there is a lot of strong currents up on the other end of that string tugging at the little kite. If the string breaks, it is all lost.
Jake knew how to face into the wind, run and feed the string slowly so that the kite would do a little dance, then a small dive and then soar on an unseen breeze. He would slowly feed it more string until it was very high in the air. When it was settled he would let me hold the string, but he was always right there to make sure it stayed up and to tell me what to do to keep it steady. How I loved to feel the pull of that kite! It was just like a fish on the end of a line. Ever been fishing? If you have you know what I mean.
When it came time to bring it in, he would begin to pull it towards him and then quickly wind up the slack in the line. Landing the kite was a definite art. If he tried to do it too fast the string might break in which case the kite would soar away and crash to earth some where in a mass of broken sticks and paper. But if he worked it just right he could bring it down and catch it by the tail and then hang it up to fly another day. That was always a good feeling. With Jake, I was a kite flying fool and he was always patient with me. Not so good out on my own.
Mother gave me a little kite once and Jake helped me get the tail on it and get it up. But since it was just a store bought thing, he quickly lost interest. He left and I watched my kite sail higher and higher and then the unthinkable happened! I lost hold of the string and watched in horror as my little kite sailed across the field toward the cemetery. I ran as fast as I could, but there was no hope. And then it stopped. It stopped because the string was tangled in the top of a very big tree on the edge of the cemetery. I watched as it dived around trying to get loose and finally in horror as it strained at the string and then spun around and crashed into the top of the tree in a broken mess. I cried all that night at the loss of my kite. Oh, the things kids remember.
Now, I have to tell you that many years later when we moved out here and Susie was 9 or 10, I got the urge to fly a kite again. All these fields and no power lines was just more than I could stand. So I bought a kite. I assembled it and tied on the string. Could not get it up. Then I remembered about the tail. So I tied a tail on it. Still could not get it up. I ran into the wind. I ran with the wind. I ran cross wise to the wind. Susie very quickly lost interest. I ran across a board which had a nail in it. Of course of all the places in the world to step I had to step on that nail! Kenneth was very understanding and loaded me up and took me to town for a tetanus shot! He did explain that as tempting as the prospect of me having lock jaw was, the thought of not hearing my lovely voice was more than he could bear. Sarcastic little shit!
Needless to say, my foot was very sore and when it was not sore any more the desire to fly a kite was gone. Just wasn't the same without Jake to guide me. It is fun to think about it and there is no way to describe how exhilarating it is to see your kite dancing across a blue sky, tugging at your hand and wanting you to come play.
There are many things I miss about my brother, but I think that when we were flying the kites we formed a bond that could never be broken. Years later we would set out in the yard and listen to the Grand Old Opry from Nashville, Tennessee on WSM. I credit him with instilling in me my love of country music. These were things the other kids never shared with him. When you grow up in the era I grew up in, friends were few and far between, but family was always there. Of course, time would drive us apart, but until the day he died, he was my best friend and I will never see a kite that I will not think of him.
He died the day after Dona Marie's 1st birthday. Sam was 26 days old. Funny how time slips away.
Jake was a great one for building kites. His always had to be bigger and better than anyone else's. That was back in the time when building a kite did not mean unwrapping the cellophane and taking it out of the package. He was especially fond of the box kites and those took several days to complete. The sticks had to be whittled and then glued and allowed to dry. Then the tissue paper was placed, glued and that was allowed to dry. Mother would choose a few colorful rags for the tail which had to be strategically placed. Then the string was tied on and we were ready. Jake always insisted on the very best kite string because, as Benjamin Franklin can tell you, there is a lot of strong currents up on the other end of that string tugging at the little kite. If the string breaks, it is all lost.
Jake knew how to face into the wind, run and feed the string slowly so that the kite would do a little dance, then a small dive and then soar on an unseen breeze. He would slowly feed it more string until it was very high in the air. When it was settled he would let me hold the string, but he was always right there to make sure it stayed up and to tell me what to do to keep it steady. How I loved to feel the pull of that kite! It was just like a fish on the end of a line. Ever been fishing? If you have you know what I mean.
When it came time to bring it in, he would begin to pull it towards him and then quickly wind up the slack in the line. Landing the kite was a definite art. If he tried to do it too fast the string might break in which case the kite would soar away and crash to earth some where in a mass of broken sticks and paper. But if he worked it just right he could bring it down and catch it by the tail and then hang it up to fly another day. That was always a good feeling. With Jake, I was a kite flying fool and he was always patient with me. Not so good out on my own.
Mother gave me a little kite once and Jake helped me get the tail on it and get it up. But since it was just a store bought thing, he quickly lost interest. He left and I watched my kite sail higher and higher and then the unthinkable happened! I lost hold of the string and watched in horror as my little kite sailed across the field toward the cemetery. I ran as fast as I could, but there was no hope. And then it stopped. It stopped because the string was tangled in the top of a very big tree on the edge of the cemetery. I watched as it dived around trying to get loose and finally in horror as it strained at the string and then spun around and crashed into the top of the tree in a broken mess. I cried all that night at the loss of my kite. Oh, the things kids remember.
Now, I have to tell you that many years later when we moved out here and Susie was 9 or 10, I got the urge to fly a kite again. All these fields and no power lines was just more than I could stand. So I bought a kite. I assembled it and tied on the string. Could not get it up. Then I remembered about the tail. So I tied a tail on it. Still could not get it up. I ran into the wind. I ran with the wind. I ran cross wise to the wind. Susie very quickly lost interest. I ran across a board which had a nail in it. Of course of all the places in the world to step I had to step on that nail! Kenneth was very understanding and loaded me up and took me to town for a tetanus shot! He did explain that as tempting as the prospect of me having lock jaw was, the thought of not hearing my lovely voice was more than he could bear. Sarcastic little shit!
Needless to say, my foot was very sore and when it was not sore any more the desire to fly a kite was gone. Just wasn't the same without Jake to guide me. It is fun to think about it and there is no way to describe how exhilarating it is to see your kite dancing across a blue sky, tugging at your hand and wanting you to come play.
There are many things I miss about my brother, but I think that when we were flying the kites we formed a bond that could never be broken. Years later we would set out in the yard and listen to the Grand Old Opry from Nashville, Tennessee on WSM. I credit him with instilling in me my love of country music. These were things the other kids never shared with him. When you grow up in the era I grew up in, friends were few and far between, but family was always there. Of course, time would drive us apart, but until the day he died, he was my best friend and I will never see a kite that I will not think of him.
He died the day after Dona Marie's 1st birthday. Sam was 26 days old. Funny how time slips away.
