Comparative Reality

Last weekend, my plan was to finish building the chicken coop. I got up earlyish on Saturday to borrow my father-in-law's van to pick up a sheet of roofing material. He came with me to look for fencing material.

Supplies purchased, we went to my house and worked on moving the roofless coop from where I was building it, near the garage, to the spot my wife selected, out in the back yard. We were just starting move it when I heard the rumble of big radial engines coming closer. DC-3? There are a couple of those in the area. But this was louder, something with more than two engines. Which doesn't leave many options, and all of them are enough to make me drop a chicken coop on my foot (nearly) to get a look. We have trees in and around our yard, so you have to be quick to see something flying overhead. And coming out past the palm trees was a big, silver B-17, flying straight over the yard and towards the northwest. I explained what it was to my father-in-law, and I that I had read a small notice in the local paper about a B-17 at Hayward. And that you could take a flight in one, but for a big chunk of cash. I was just hoping to drag the family out to take a tour of the old girl.

Anyway, we had a chicken coop to move. Then it was time to take the girls to gymnastics and get on with the day. My mother-in-law wanted to take the girls shopping, and when she picked up the girls she handed my wife an envelope "of some paperwork for Neal." Which turned out to be a small stack of large bills and a note to enjoy the flight. I stared at it, not understanding. My wife, possessed of far more sense than me, realized what it meant, while I was still trying to figure out where the guy wanted me to travel to, and for what possible reason. After she patiently explained it to me, I think I stared and babbled for a few minutes. Then we rushed home and I made some phone calls. Wait; I think we stopped for paint for the coop. I couldn't buy a ticket online or over the phone, and got the cellphone number of one of the guys traveling with the airplane. Which he didn't answer. I went to work on the coop, checking my phone every few minutes. When the girls returned from shopping, I dragged everyone to the airport. Cash was exchanged for a ticket on the Sunday morning flight, and we all got to walk through the bomber. I tried to explain to my kids everything that my dad had taught me, hoping to give them a feel for something that was already a couple of generations removed from me.