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Being an overseas Onion isn’t easy at this time of year. Especially for yours truly in Canada, doing his utmost to observe our island’s Easter traditions, while helping the good Minister, Dr. Ewart Brown promote tourism. Try finding the right kind of kite stick. Impossible.

Or ferreting out salted cod for fish cakes. All but as elusive as Christ’s Holy Grail itself.

So why bother to create a little BDA in CA-NA-DA, if the right ingredients of the season are so hard to gather? Because I have to.

You see, my rural seventh grade students here in Stirling, Ontario have now come to expect to learn how to make Bermuda kites at Easter time. Not only do they expect it, my new charges arrive in my class each September and say: “So. Mr. C. When do we start making kites?”

“At Easter time,” I say, “and not until then.”

That’s when we put aside our math text book for two weeks and get out the right sticks (Annex-ones, of course), the string, potted paste, tissue paper and scissors, turning Room 202 into a veritable Bermy North.

Flight is on the science curriculum in grade seven, as are structures, stability and aerodynamics. But I also integrate the project with the students’ art (design, colour), and math (angles, measurement, geometry), with some social studies (Bermuda history) thrown in for good measure. We write poems and stories about kites and flight. We link up North American history to that of Bermuda’s early beginnings and role in the settlement of that continent. And we celebrate spring, discussing the symbolism of kites, hot cross buns and Easter eggs.

Classic learning

I learned to make a traditional stick and tissue paper kite in primary four. My first attempt, a four stick roundie with a five point orange and purple star pattern was lovingly assembled and actually flew that windless Good Friday in 1983.

Now, each Spring, my class does the same:

Using Frank Watlington’s age-old classic, Bermuda Kites: How to Make and Fly Them as our bible (the same how-to book I used as a youngster), the kids begin by designing their kites (art), ensuring the mock ups are to scale (math; measurement and geometry) and following the principals of structural stability (science).

The trickiest parts for my students are the same I had as a neophyte craftsman: Notching the stick ends. Papering cleanly. Remembering to begin with the light colours followed by dark. And making the loop to attach the flying string.

This year we are going to make fish cakes and have us a real Onions’ celebration. The kids always think it’s amusing that we devote a whole day to kite flying, but they also understand the importance and spiritual significance of getting together with family to celebrate our Easter festivities.

I couldn’t have imagined before first embarking on the project their creations would turn out so well. But in the end, the kids, amaze me. Not only are the finished kites as colourful and lovingly made as any I’ve seen in Bermuda — but they show children really do learn best with hands-on, and minds engaged.

Now, I wonder if I can coax Cultural Minister, and codfish King, Dale Butler out from under his Warwick rubber tree to spend next Easter with us in Ontario? It’s worth a shot.

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