Flying

The engine sputtered, coughed then fired one piston after another until the rhythmic sound soothed my being. Adjusting the choke,pulling the throttle the prop wash instantly caused tears to stream down my cheeks. Reaching down I grasped my old leather helmet pulled it onto my head and adjusted the goggles over my eyes. The sound was loud but I could see again. Someday I’ll learn not to be too anxious to start the plane until I have the proper equipment on.

I looked to my right for clearance; there sat Alice my fox terrier waiting for my signal. I held my hand up and in one motion she jumped on the wing and was sitting on the seat next to me. She loved to fly as much as I did. I adjusted her into her harness so she wouldn’t fall out if I did any flips.

The gauges checked out, we signaled for the chock to be pulled and started our taxi to the runway. The sock hung limp against the pole it would be a perfect day for flying.

Feeling comfortable with the craft and the weather I gave myself the big GO for takeoff. I held the brake and revved the engine to the red line rpm’s. Releasing the brake, the little craft shot forward down the grass airstrip passing in front of our house. I pulled back the yoke and the nose lifted upward. The plane pounced from the ground like a tiger jumping for its prey. Climbing into the sky, Alice barked wildly with joy. Her face contorted by the wind sailing through the open cockpit of our speeding plane. I banked our craft to the left and circled the barn to set my bearings and determine the direction of our flight. The little branch south of the barn beckoned to me. I kept it on my left as I followed the stream eastward toward Smith’s creek.

Banking southward as we reached the creek we passed over the old covered bridge. It was built in the 1840’s, the roof was pitched and solid, the red paint faded and splotchy. Large sycamore trees lined each side of the creek, making the bridge near impossible to see from the ground. I loved to fly over the old bridge thinking of the history passing through it.

We flew eastward to the Tenth Legion’s red brick school house and circled back to Smith’s creek. Following the creek to the north we passed over the covered bridge again then flew over old highway Erector Set Bridge, faded silver and rusty. Just north of the bridge was an ancient swinging footbridge. West of the footbridge was the Driver homestead. Kids were playing in the yard and they were waving and jumping around.

The footbridge was built high above the creek. I decided to show off a little for the kids. Looking at Alice, I told her we were going barnstorming. I pulled back the yoke, climbed to get speed then turned the plane around and dove to the creek, leveling off as if to land on the water and flew right under the bridge. Alice started barking and gave a howl. I pulled the craft up quickly and banked to the west. We flew directly over the kids as they jumped and waved. I dipped my wings to say, “Hi”.

It was time to return home, off to our right was the old farm house where I had been born and to my left was the Big House of the Court Manor plantation, built in 1838.

Just ahead was the airfield. I lined up the runway between the framing of what used to be a windshield. Approaching, I saw the wind sock hanging straight down. Passing under the fuselage were the maple trees lining Route 11, they had been planted in memory of Joyce Kilmer the author of the poem about trees. His brother owned Court Manor and raised race horses. Two were Kentucky Derby winners.

It was a straight shot to the runway. I cut the engine and glided sharply to the airstrip below. Pulling back on the yoke to get the nose up and placing the craft smoothly on the green grass. Gunning the engine, we taxied to our parking spot. I flipped the switch and the prop stopped turning. The chock was put in place and we were home, safe.

It was a great trip. Pulling off my headgear and loosing Alice from her harness she jumped from the cockpit and ran to meet my sister Ashaline who stepped off the front porch. She walked to the aircraft and asked why I had the chairs lying on the ground. I was caught.

Confessing, I told her how I’d found a wooden apple crate under the porch and dragged it to the middle of the yard shaking off the dirt along the way. I crawled into the crate cockpit but couldn’t fly without wings so I hunted for old boards, even thinking about pulling some off the fence. Taking a break from my search I went to the kitchen to get a drink. I pulled the ladder-back chair from the kitchen table to the sink, standing on the seat I started pumping the water. I look through the kitchen window hoping to find wings as I drank. Finishing my drink I hung the dipper back on the hook. Jumping to the floor causing the chair to crash backward I discovered my wing. If I put the bottom of the chair against my apple crate the wing would stick out. My problem was solved. I dragged four white ladder-back chairs from the kitchen to the middle of the yard, one at a time. I built my wings by putting the legs of the chair against my crate with the back of the chair on the ground. For the tail I put the chair face down with the legs pointing out. I did this for the front, too. A bushel basket lid was my propeller. The aircraft was boxy but comfortable. Ash smiled, I knew I wasn’t in trouble. Picking up one of my wings she sat down. “Now”, she said, “Why don’t you tell me about your trip”.