Sunday, June 1, 2008
Look and Listen to the Skys
There is a single long island parallel to our 5 little one s, here at the North end of Lake Erie. That long island is a lovely community having its "special weekend" now. At one time, the South tip of the island held a thriving Naval Air Base. Now it is a municipal airport. Private airplanes, small cargo operations, and other endeavors utilize what is left of the old buildings. So, on this special weekend there is a lot of activity in the sky opposite my particular island. There is the morning Fly-by of the Air Force Jets. With the Red Bull Air Races up-river, the Fly-By is doing double duty. At noon a formation of World War II fighter planes flew the length of the river and turned right above us. I was too late for a picture then, but the camera is ready NOW. Who knows what else is going to come into view.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8FBHij3kO-lX4v2h9Q-zEGrFEULeMvRD-RmpLoC6voemgqJwAYi1arae6ble4f6fYYLceEyzdVOn0C-t_u1oBLIAmV-KWZieTbSgwzvZEs8THyujCqqOOQkqjYEf9n4oC_5Cqcsdmrk/s320/IMG_7267.JPG)
Later in the summer there is another happening at the airport...a "fly-in" of historic war planes known as "The Confederate Air Force". That weekend I need a sound recorder more than a camera. Having spent those WWII days at my grandmother's house within sight of the airbase, I heard fighters and cargo planes on an hourly basis. To hear those sounds again takes me right back to those days...happy for me, but difficult as war years always are. I try to explain things to my way-younger brother and my dear 50s Man, who is just enough younger than I am not to remember the War Years. There is no way to transfer the nostalgia from my memory to theirs.
Later in the summer there is another happening at the airport...a "fly-in" of historic war planes known as "The Confederate Air Force". That weekend I need a sound recorder more than a camera. Having spent those WWII days at my grandmother's house within sight of the airbase, I heard fighters and cargo planes on an hourly basis. To hear those sounds again takes me right back to those days...happy for me, but difficult as war years always are. I try to explain things to my way-younger brother and my dear 50s Man, who is just enough younger than I am not to remember the War Years. There is no way to transfer the nostalgia from my memory to theirs.
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