EARLIER THIS SUMMER, my dad departed solo in hisbeloved Navion from Crystal Village Airport (2FL0)near Chipley, Florida—a magnificent 3,500-foot-longgrass strip, his new airport home. More than 50 of uslooked on with admiration, pride, and the joy broughtby watching someone engaged in what brings themso much fulfillment. I asked to fly with him, as did mybrother and a couple of his buddies, but he rejected usall—stating he wanted to make sure it was known thathe alone flew himself into the Octogenarian Pilot Club,on this, his eightieth birthday.
展开▼
