Flying

After taking two separate flights out to San Diego and two back, I was sure. I didn't like flying. My head hurt, my ears hurt from listening to the guy next to me (he thought I was some sort of remote exotic just because I was homeschooled), my leg room was the size of a peanut butter jar, and my hand clutched a barf bag. I did not like flying.

Yesterday I changed my mind. Being crammed into a jet like a sardine in a can with two hundred other people is not fun flying. Real flying is being in a little four-passenger plane with your charge nurse at the controls.

Yesterday, Tim took Mom and me flying. In this plane:

Once we were in the air, Tim's voice blared into my headphones: "You'll have to show me where you guys live, because I'm not exactly sure." My first thought was "we don't live in Columbus." But then I realized. Who cares where we live! We're flying 120 miles an hour!

It was fascinating. We flew above Columbus for a bit, while Tim pointed out a few different things. Then we zipped over the Platte River, down to our hometown, and then on to our house out in the country. Mom had called Audrey, so she was outside waving. After circling around our house several times about 500 feet above it, we went on to the little town where Tim and I work.

Approaching our house

Tim even let me fly for a few minutes. That was cool. I followed the Platte and then made big circles over Columbus. It was fun to turn and try to keep the same altitude at the same time.

Thanks Tim!

(all photos taken by my mum)