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Getting High in the Homeschool

3:59 PM - Jan. 30, 2007 - Add to the Wildness

So Dave gets a phone call around 11:00 this morning. It's his buddy from work, a guy called Goose. "So, whatchya doin' today?"

Dave: "Not much. Just gotta take my in-laws' truck back, since I got mine back together."

Goose: "Oh, yeah. Anything on this afternoon?"

Dave: "Nope, not really."

Goose: "This is Goose."

Dave: "Uh, yeah. I know."

Goose: "I'm going to be at the Shoal Lake airport at 1:00...."

Dave: Scrambles into action.

Goose, you see, has his pilot's license, and the Shoal Lake airport (a small collection of sheds that could pass for a mid-sized farmyard) contains a little four-seater plane. And Dave, long ago in a galaxy far away, promised to finagle his wife a plane ride for her birthday. That was last August.

So we drop off the in-laws' truck. Then we boot 'er north. An hour later, we meet up with a quiet, friendly guy in a small waiting room. Behind the desk is an English farmer who also happens to give flying lessons. On the walls are screen-printed maps of the Battle of Britain and the World War II Allied bombers. Over in a corner is a poem, the poem one expects to see in a tiny outpost airport staffed by an old British flyer: High Flight.

I pause a moment, recalling a picture in an old portfolio, and I feel misty for a second. "Hey, girls," I say. "Come here. See this poem? I have a picture about it that was drawn by your great-grandmother."

Then the potty break is over, and I'm assured that it's safe to proceed onward and upward. Happy birthday to me! The girls and I go out to the plane with Goose. We buckle the kids in the tiny back seat, and I tell them, "It's like a race car. And that's what it's going to feel like when we take off." They giggle and squeal with excitement.

For forty minutes, we sail across the serene winter skies, while the girls holler and exclaim with every new sight and every dip of the wing. I let them have the camera, and they take pictures of wings, of the pilot, of Mommy, of the plane's ceiling, of each other making silly faces. I can't stop grinning either.

We soar over our little farmstead. I look down at all my cumulative frustrations -- the whole 25 acres -- and I think, We're just not doing so bad. But, man, that's an ugly burnt-up wrecked truck in the yard. Just a standard observation that goes with our place.

We turn further south, and we pass over my favourite place in the world -- the ravine a mile and a half east of my parents' farm. We circle the 100-year-old farmhouse, and my dad waves from out beside the tractor. We circle again, and Goose tells the girls, "We'll wave back this time!" The plane wiggles, and the girls -- of course -- squeal.

"Okay, here we go," says Goose, and we bank north again, gaining altitude and speed. He shows me the gauges and explains how far out we are from the airport and how to find it. I look out at the beautiful patterns on the frozen world -- the snow with its scudding drifts really is like a great quilt from up here. The plane gently rocks in light winds like a small boat on the lake, and I smile with the peace of it.

When we get back, I watch the wheel touch tarmac and feel the jolt of regular life returning. It's the boys' turn, and although Dave has offered to let me hog both rides, I can't deprive him. "It's okay, you go. You'll love it, honey."

Of course, when he gets back, I find out that he did most of the driving.

Isn't flying fun?
My dh and his friends had licenses in college and we would take cessnas out to Orcas Island in the San Juans. It was so beautiful flying over the Puget Sound.

He really should've let you drive some--- That's great that the kids weren't scared. My ds11 went up in a cessna when he was 4 and loved all of it until we actually left the ground. LOL! Then he just wanted back down and now!!
Congrats-- that sounds like a great birthday present!
Terrill
tbrowne - 5:57 PM - Jan. 31, 2007

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