Chapter 48

Tina’s turn:

Kathy’s in her stroller. I like walking out in the sunshine, even though it’s late summer and still way hot, but I absolutely must be here, standing outside the airfield office. It’s not just Kathy and me, either. We have just about everybody. Alan’s here. Jason and Susan and little JW. Dana and Ed. Dan 2.0 and Nikki.

This is THE aviation event of the year.

Wally’s biggest, newest Air Tractor is over there on the apron in front of the big hangar, its five-bladed prop spinning at ground idle. You almost can’t see her, but there she is, in a helmet that matches the yellow paint of the plane. Cindy. Wally’s on the ground on one side of the plane. Cindy’s Dan is on the other.

Dan waves at her. She gives him a sassy and almost obligatory thumbs up sign and he and Wally pull the chocks.

I have mused more than once wondering if Cindy was as single-minded in her pursuit of her Dan as she was to get into the seat of that Air Tractor. Doesn’t matter. In either case, she’s succeeded, and frankly, as a pilot, she’s as masterful as she is being a wife ... and a student ... and an engineer ... and a research physicist.

Jealous? Not even a little. She’s got her path. I’ve got mine, much of which is sitting in the stroller in front of me, her blue eyes – her daddy’s blue eyes – surveying the surroundings. As Cindy is taxiing to the far end of the runway, I pick Kathy up. “Watch your Aunt Cindy fly the big yellow airplane.”

Okay, I know Kathy’s not yet a year old, not even close, but she babbles back to me all the time. Terri talks to her too. One day... “Mom,” Terri says, “See her expression?”

“Yes, baby,” I say. When Terri calls me ‘Mom’ I melt a little. She does it in a family venue quite often.

“She’s frustrated.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I think she really wants to talk back.”

Maybe Kathy does. She does know ‘airplane’ and she certainly knows Cindy. I wonder if she connects the two. She IS watching, though. The plane makes its turn at the far end of the runway, I see the propeller change speed, the plane moves, tail is up, wheels are off the ground, here she comes, and ZOOM. That turbine engine and big prop do sound sweet.

Okay, a little jealous ... But I didn’t put into it what Cindy has.

I know she’s going to make a few practice landings – touch and goes – so she stays in the traffic pattern.

“She’s done it,” Susan said as she shifted little JW to her other hip.

“Not yet. She’s gotta put it back in front of the hangar in one piece.”

“Yeah ... Cindy ... she’s faking,” Susan said, her little sarcastic streak showing.

The yellow plane was turning onto its final approach, sliding like it was on tracks, headed for the runway threshold. The main wheels touched, then the tailwheel, it rolled toward us a bit, then the engine roared powerfully and it was off again, this time climbing at a much steeper angle.

I look over at Dan 1.0 and Wally. Wally’s smiling. I sidle over. Kathy’s head swivels, still watching the airplane, until we get close to Dan and Wally, then she goes into ‘cute baby’ mode, grinning toothlessly.

“I thought you’d be all traumatized over this,” I said.

“Kinda like watching my own fledgling leave the nest. She’s on the payroll. Dollar a week. Ag pilot.”

“Oh, lord,” I said. “Another line on an already horrible curriculum vitae. Her head’s gonna swell.”

Dan just smiled.

Another touch and go, then the third time around, she stayed on the runway at ground idle, the big propeller spinning slowly. She took time to wave as she passed us, her groupies. Expertly wheeling off the runway onto the apron. Wally stepped over and played the part of ground guide, putting her in front of the loading pad they use when they’re working fields close to home.

One of Wally’s ground crew was on hand today. When Cindy acknowledged him, he hauled a hose over and connected to the plane’s tank. It’s water today. Cindy’s initiation includes the unloaded flying she just did. Now they’re loading her up with water. Loaded, she has explained, more than doubles the plane’s weight. I know the difference in our Cessna 182 between me by myself with only a quarter tank and us with the plane at gross. That’s about 50% more weight. Cindy’s facing more than double. She’s going to go out to the practice area, at altitude, and get the feel of the loaded aircraft.

Loaded down, she’s slower, and we watch the takeoff. She uses a lot more runway. I know what the plan is. She’s going to run through a stall repertoire at altitude, out in the practice area, then return with the hopper still full. And here’s thirty-two hundred feet of runway that’s going to get some of that water as she gets used to running along at a hundred and ten knots and ten feet above ground with the aircraft weight changing constantly as the sprayer empties the hopper.

We go back to the pavilion to wait. It’s a bit over half an hour later, the engine sounds tell us that she’s back. This time we watch from a distance. Yes, the hopper’s been washed out, but even residue from some of the stuff they spray isn’t something I want to subject Kathy to.

Cindy’s lined up at the far end, starting her approach, that turbine spinning the prop HARD. When she crosses the threshold of the runway, the spray starts. Ten feet between wheel and runway, fifteen seconds and that big yellow plane is clawing upward in a tight turn, almost ninety degrees of bank angle. Then the nose is back down for a reverse pass.

There’s no waving from the cockpit. I know this is new to her and I know Cindy when she’s in the zone. Focused. Spraybar erupts again. Another pass, tight turn at the end. And then another. This time as she’s straining up at the end of the run, she pulls the dump valve. That’s an emergency thing – the contents of the hopper just flow out the bottom, a white plume as a couple of hundred gallons of water meet the air tossed back by the thousand horsepower spinning that prop. It’s part of the plan.

The last landing is anticlimactic. This time she wheels in front of the ag service hangar, expertly positioning the big taildragger. When the prop stops, she’s out on the wing, helmet off, tossing that sassy red head of hers.

My sister. Eighty years too late to be Amelia Earhart. Maybe she wouldn’t have been, but then Miss Earhart wasn’t a PhD in physics, either. That’s okay, though. We mob her, well, our scrums aren’t quite like they used to be because I have to pass Kathy off to Alan before I can jump in.

Then it’s back to the house. Time for Kathy’s feeding. Yes, she’s still getting the breast. I like it that way. Matter of fact, me, Susan, Johanna (she’s here a whole lot more since she’s attained mommyhood) and Cindy’s mom, we all get together for baby days. Susan and I are the only ones who’ve swapped babies for feeding, but that was something we did in the mornings over herbal tea, when it was just the two of us.

I’m sitting there with little Kathy at my breast when Terri walks in. I know that most modern kids would freak at the sight of a mother breast-feeding, but the pTerridactyl is not ‘most kids’ on just about any scale you might wish to measure. She sits down right next to me, bends over enough to kiss Kathy’s head.

“Hi, Kathy-sis,” she says.

I think I discern an answering coo from my younger daughter.

“What’s up, Terri?” I ask.

“We’re going back and forth between Google and DOD over this autonomy thing. I’m thinking we can do a transplantable sub-brain with programmable personality modules and the same thing will work for Google’s stuff as well as Defense’s.”

“Bot-bot and Zeke-bot have the same mommy,” I said.

“Everybody likes our hybrid mobility platform except Bella. She doesn’t like Bot-bot to walk.”

“Basset hounds are not notoriously deep thinkers,” I said. “She has to learn to be comfortable with something that looks quite different.”

“Vicki and Rachel are writing that up as a biology paper,” Terri said. “Auburn likes it.”

“I suppose that means some credits for them, then?”

“Yes.” Her face feigned sadness. “I fear that they’ve given up on me...”

“You nut,” I giggled. “You are an indescribable nut and it is with great joy that I regard you as my daughter.”

“We got lucky, huh?” she said. “Both of us loving Dad.”

“Yeah, it is soooo good.”

“That’s sort of what I wanted to talk about.”

There it is. Boinggggg! My antennae went up. Terri wants to talk about... “About?”

“Loving Dad. You know we’ve talked before. I am trying to understand.”

“So we talk.” I skewered her. “You’re not talking about...”

She interrupted me before I could say that name to complete the incantation. “A gentleman of generic description. Okay?”

“Okay. Plausible deniability.”

She tossed her blonde hair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But let us continue.”

“You’ve been reading too many 19th century authors,” I said. “But I’m listening.”

“Jerry,” she said.

“Jerry,” I replied, rather cautious, but trying not to show it. Terri deserved the best I could give. A little prayer crossed my lips. I often wonder what goes on inside that cute young blonde’s head. And now she’s charging into hormones and puberty and she’s already got a brain that few adults (me included) can comprehend. And she’s thinking about Jerry Stengall.

“I know what everybody is thinking,” she said. “I’m going on twelve. Puppy love.”

“It could be, sweetie,” I said. “And just naming it that doesn’t help a lot. It still hurts.”

“You had it, huh?”

“Yes, I did. But I’m not the best one to understand. Mom’s lifestyle made me very wary about male and female relationships.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Terri said. “You know I talked with Susan, too, don’t you?”

“Yes, Susan told me that you talked with her. She guards the details. Susan’s your aunt, and she’s careful about your heart.”

“I know. That’s what she said. I’m just trying to understand. It’s hard. Not something I can plug into Matlab or Excel.”

“I know, sweetie. Hug?”

“Hugs always help, you know.” She nestled up against me, sharing me with Kathy. “I know he’s gonna go away in December when he graduates.”