The three hour drive to Evansville is refreshingly quiet. As I travel alone, I like to capture images and make note of what I find, curious things like the little boats lining the flooded fields and drives in East Cape, used to traverse unexpected new lakes; a strong tree standing singularly before layers of blue grey haze; the roads snaking through corridors of corn. I arrive at John James Audubon State Park at 10:00, and tour the beautiful stone mansion that holds the museum, gift shop, nature center and art galleries dedicated to this prolific artist. I enjoy silently wandering through the museum galleries, reading of this man's life and studying the impeccable detail of his illustrated works. I climb the steps of the circular stone tower to snap pics of the immaculate gardens just beyond the slate shingled roof. I share my business card with the docent, who invites me to bring my own illustrations for exhibit next year.
After just a few more miles, I reach the airport terminal in Evansville, where I eat lunch, change into work clothes, and find info for the bus station downtown. I arrive at the small FBO only 30 minutes before the warplanes begin to touch down and take their places on the ramp. As I scan the skies for planes and talk with people in the FBO, I grow even more excited to be here as a volunteer, anticipating a week of hard work with a positive attitude, many new learning experiences, and fun times with new friends. I am not disappointed.
Rob Collings, executive director of the non-profit Collings Foundation, pilots the P-51 Mustang. He welcomes me with a hug. As the B-24 and the B-17 arrive, the ramp becomes a stage, set to offer a unique interaction with living history. Crew members and volunteers step from their flying machines and immediately go into action, unloading cargo, taking money at the gate, setting out cones, setting up the PX tables, greeting visitors. I jump in, watch and learn. The crew's moves are well rehearsed, as this is sixth of a ten month tour, which includes over 120 cities in the U S.
Someone hands me a roll of cash and a stamp, and I'm off to the gate. I spend the sweltering afternoon greeting families, eager children, veterans, and local pilots as they step into this unique experience. Today these visitors have the opportunity to step back in time, to gain perspective, to glimpse what bombardiers and gunners and pilots experienced as they courageously defended our country in these aircraft. Here, the stories of grandfathers, uncles and friends come alive with meaning. The B-17 is one of eight still flying, and the B-24 is the only one. Many visitors seize the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, paying hundreds to take flight in one of these historical aircraft. I am given the opportunity to volunteer my time in exchange for flight. I served in the PX, was trained as a flight engineer for the B-17, and worked the gate, ready to serve in any capacity needed. By week's end, I had four flights in the Flying Fortress (three times as flight engineer) and one flight in the Liberator.
After the hot, exhausting work was done and flights were finished, the meals with the crew were always punctuated with laughter and comical stories. The end of the day brings the best sort of fatigue, and the satisfaction of sharing meaningful memories with people who appreciate the service of those who have defended our nation in times of war.
What an amazing week for me. Friday at noon, I said my goodbyes to a crew of new friends, who welcomed me as a member of the team, taught me with great patience, and painted my week with color. Feeling a bit spoiled by many wonderful experiences, I travel on with happy heart. It was all a summer adventure should be.
I received a ride to the bus terminal in a fiery red Corvette! On the bus ride from Louisville back to Evansville, I made the acquaintance of the only other passenger, a young English professor at university. Then I slept hard. When I woke, I took the time to write, to make "anchors" that tie me to the events of this week before these moments fade into everyday life. I filled pages of my journal with snippets of memories, funnies and little thumbnail images. I wear my bruises, my "bomber bites," with pride, and just about the time they fade, I will have to join this "Flying Circus" once again for a bit of fun and a fresh perspective.
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