As I once again gathered my camera and a couple of lenses to photograph airplanes, I started to chuckle as I thought about how much my father would have loved this aspect of my life.
Dad loved airplanes. When I was growing up we would eat an early supper on Sunday so Dad and I could go to Detroit Metro Airport to sit on the observation deck and watch the planes take off and land. It was just the two of us, and a very special time.
Night was the best time to go, as everything was lit up like a Christmas tree. Runway lights. Take off and landing lights. Terminal lights. The flashing lights on aircraft. Lights everywhere. I even remember "street lights" on the deck, with benches strategically placed so everyone had views of the planes taking off and landing.
We love the history of aviation; the way it has helped build our nation, and the world. The old hangers are full of treasures, and art and historical records help us remember humble beginnings in a bicycle shop in Ohio.
Times have certainly changed. With all the enhanced security gone are the days when you could easily access airplanes...and easily encourage the imaginations of young people with dreams of flight in a hands-on way..
When I met my husband I knew he was a pilot, but I had no idea how much it would impact my life. I remember my first flight with him, which was my first flight in a small aircraft, and how he had it all planned so I would have a near-perfect first experience. Then work got in the way. He received a call requesting cargo be delivered to Detroit. I had the choice to go with him, and he had indicated the flight would be smooth and easy, or I could stay here and wait for him to return. I went.
And then the children went. Then we had our own plane for a while, camping under the wings at Oshkosh, flying to Mackinac Island and Chicago, and taking fall color tours to our heart's content.
This life-adventure started over 31 years ago, and I now have so many photographs of airplanes, terminal buildings, historic locations, airshows, clouds, farm fields from the air, mountains and glacial lakes...you get the idea. What do I do with all of them? And there is no way to record the feelings which accompanied most of those images. The heart-stopping shiver when we flew through clouds and the landscape disappeared. The joy and wonder of unbelievably brilliant blue skies and huge marshmallow clouds gliding past us. And the belief that we were in the hands of God. No other explanation.
So here we were on one more day where a quick trip to the airport turned into "hanging out" for a good part of the afternoon. Blue sky dotted with whips clouds. And airplanes. Time may have changed the design of the machine, but each aircraft symbolizes a freedom my dad sought and never had the opportunity to experience. The joy of flight.
I see this joy and excitement on the faces of each pilot I meet, and the man I am married to. It is a love affair with the sky, and the feeling of elation to be able to be at peace in a place that you love. Heaven.
One Father's Day, I created a photo story in book form for my husband, using our aviation photography to illustrate this beautiful tribute, written by John Magee Jr. He had written of his experiences flying, penning this poem on the back of a letter home, September 1941. Flying in the Royal Canadian Air Force, he experienced this:
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
and danced the skies on laughter -silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds,
- and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of -
Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence.
Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grade
Where never lark, or even eagle files -
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high interspersed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand,
and touched the face of God.
Dad loved airplanes. When I was growing up we would eat an early supper on Sunday so Dad and I could go to Detroit Metro Airport to sit on the observation deck and watch the planes take off and land. It was just the two of us, and a very special time.
Night was the best time to go, as everything was lit up like a Christmas tree. Runway lights. Take off and landing lights. Terminal lights. The flashing lights on aircraft. Lights everywhere. I even remember "street lights" on the deck, with benches strategically placed so everyone had views of the planes taking off and landing.
We love the history of aviation; the way it has helped build our nation, and the world. The old hangers are full of treasures, and art and historical records help us remember humble beginnings in a bicycle shop in Ohio.
Times have certainly changed. With all the enhanced security gone are the days when you could easily access airplanes...and easily encourage the imaginations of young people with dreams of flight in a hands-on way..
When I met my husband I knew he was a pilot, but I had no idea how much it would impact my life. I remember my first flight with him, which was my first flight in a small aircraft, and how he had it all planned so I would have a near-perfect first experience. Then work got in the way. He received a call requesting cargo be delivered to Detroit. I had the choice to go with him, and he had indicated the flight would be smooth and easy, or I could stay here and wait for him to return. I went.
And then the children went. Then we had our own plane for a while, camping under the wings at Oshkosh, flying to Mackinac Island and Chicago, and taking fall color tours to our heart's content.
This life-adventure started over 31 years ago, and I now have so many photographs of airplanes, terminal buildings, historic locations, airshows, clouds, farm fields from the air, mountains and glacial lakes...you get the idea. What do I do with all of them? And there is no way to record the feelings which accompanied most of those images. The heart-stopping shiver when we flew through clouds and the landscape disappeared. The joy and wonder of unbelievably brilliant blue skies and huge marshmallow clouds gliding past us. And the belief that we were in the hands of God. No other explanation.
So here we were on one more day where a quick trip to the airport turned into "hanging out" for a good part of the afternoon. Blue sky dotted with whips clouds. And airplanes. Time may have changed the design of the machine, but each aircraft symbolizes a freedom my dad sought and never had the opportunity to experience. The joy of flight.
I see this joy and excitement on the faces of each pilot I meet, and the man I am married to. It is a love affair with the sky, and the feeling of elation to be able to be at peace in a place that you love. Heaven.
One Father's Day, I created a photo story in book form for my husband, using our aviation photography to illustrate this beautiful tribute, written by John Magee Jr. He had written of his experiences flying, penning this poem on the back of a letter home, September 1941. Flying in the Royal Canadian Air Force, he experienced this:
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
and danced the skies on laughter -silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds,
- and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of -
Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence.
Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grade
Where never lark, or even eagle files -
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high interspersed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand,
and touched the face of God.
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