Flying High
Flying High
As soon as it’s light enough to see, I run outside in my PJs and remove the rock that’s covering the opening that's waiting to receive my new flagpole. The concrete surrounding it seems hardened and ready. Now I just need to contain my growing excitement until Dane finishes work. Yesterday I got part of my birthday wish of installing the flagpole, but today is the day my flags will fly for the first time!
After I finish teaching a morning exercise class, I run back out and search for my turtle, Maude. Seeing her emerge from her winter brumation was a birthday wish that didn’t come true this year. Her pen is overgrown, and as I call her name and talk to her, willing her to come out, I pull thistles and other weeds and toss them over the fence.
Eventually I tire and notice that my ankles are burning. I’m not wearing socks, and the nettles are stinging me. I go inside and sit on the edge of the tub, where I run ice-cold water over both feet to lessen the sting. Then I get busy. I have a full day of work projects and one meeting that will make the time fly until Dane gets here.
Soon enough, I hear tires on the gravel driveway, and I run out to greet Dane and tell him the concrete is hard. All systems are go for raising the flagpole!
The pole I bought is twenty feet long, consisting of five four-foot sections. I help Dane fit the sections securely together and lay the completed pole beside the hole.
Our plan is that on the count of three, we’ll lift the pole and maneuver the bottom end into the hole, and up she’ll go. I bend my knees, reminding Dane to use his knees and not his back.
One, two, three—and nothing. It’s heavy and awkward. We try again, this time lifting the pole off the ground, only to set it back down when we realize Dane needs to be positioned at the bottom to guide it into the hole. Finally, up, up, up the pole goes! My excitement overflows and I start clapping and jumping around.
We both stand at the bottom and look skyward. Holy cow, we can barely see the top. No one driving by would even notice the flags unless they stopped, got out of the car, and craned their heads skyward! Laughing, we quickly decide to take the pole down again and remove a four-foot section. Sixteen feet seems perfect.
Dane starts attaching the flags, placing the American flag at the top. This takes a bit of work and patience because I’m all in a tizzy about not letting the flag touch the ground. My dad was in the service, and he made sure to teach us kids about flag etiquette: Never let it touch the ground. Always bring it in before dark or keep it illuminated. Be respectful of the flag at all times.
Next we add the Pride flag. I’m adamant that people know they are welcomed here as a fellow human. Last but not least we add an Earth flag.
By evening, the flags are flying high, the bats have emerged from their secret spot near the chimney and are checking it out, the cats are sniffing around the base of the pole, and soon it will be dark. “Dane!” I cry, “We need to take them down—it’s going to be dark soon.”
Dane shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you seriously going to put this up and take it down daily? No one does that anymore.”
In my mind, I run through the many flags I’ve seen flying in peoples' yards. He’s right, I don’t believe they take them in and out each day—they’re always up. I worry that Dad is going to roll over in his grave, but I vow to add a solar light.
For a while we lean against the car and watch the bats and the flags fly. Then, after scolding the cats for trying to use the dug-up dirt around the flagpole base as their new litter box, we head inside.
After dinner, we both fall into bed, happy to have the pole up and the flags flying. In the morning, I’ll look first at the flags to see if there’s any wind, and then I’ll search again for Maude. I can’t wait to show her the flagpole.