When a reader asked the other day if my husband worked from home, or if we live off the land, or what, I realized that it's a mystery to many of you what it is, exactly, that this man of ours does for a living. I thought the best way to answer would be to show you this post, from summer 2010:
Into the peaceful stillness of that high mountain meadow in northern California, came the whistling drone of a turbine twin-engine airplane. It began circling the little meadow where we stood, the three boys and I. That plane was circling for good reason - it was carrying a load of smokejumpers, ready to do a practice jump into this very spot...
There were, I'm sure, lots of deep-throated whoops and hollers going on in the cabin of that plane. That's just what they do, those smokejumpers, when they're about to jump out of an airplane at 1500 feet altitude, aiming for a good landing in that postage-stamp-sized meadow down there.
My, goodness, they love what they do, those jumpers - dropping into the wilderness anywhere from Alaska to the southwestern states, extinguishing remote lightning strike fires before they become raging infernos. They're a tough, caring lot who sew all their own jumpsuits and gear bags, grow their own garden, cheer over weather forecasts that include lightning and thunder, and entrust their lives to each other.
But, we weren't there just to watch the jumpers. There was another reason that we were in that meadow that day.
Turns out we knew the guy in the cockpit of that plane.
Turns out we knew him quite well.
With all jumpers down and clear, the plane disappeared over the tops of the trees. We couldn't see it, couldn't hear it. Within minutes, though, all chatter on the ground ceased, because the whine of airplane engines was suddenly there, right on top of us.
There he was, our man, flying his plane at 150 feet above the earth, dropping a bundle of cargo to his jumpers who were waiting on the ground.
Beginning at 4000+ feet over a ridge,
Then dropping 2,000 feet within minutes in a controlled banking sort of dive,
He brought the plane in wings-level over the treetops and lined up with landmarks out ahead.
At exactly the right moment, he kicked the cargo blind into the tiny meadow, while maneuvering up over the treetops on the exit.
With the paracargo bundle landing right in amongst the smokejumpers, wildflowers, and butterflies, oh, my, it just made that pilot's four-part cheering section go wild on the ground!
We were unabashedly whooping and hollering for the man who pretty much rocks our world!
As one of the jumpers watched the cargo bundle float down into the jump spot, he turned to the boys and said, "Your daddy's good!"
Yeah, we know how to pick 'em!
So, there you have it, our man is a commercial pilot. He flies smokejumpers in spring, summer, and fall, and in winter does anything from taking much-needed time off, to flying in Alaska's north slope oil fields, to flying classified missions for the Department of Defense.
Like I said, he pretty much rocks our world!
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