cultural reference humor: “Boss – da plane, da plane!”

The holding yard here at the "world-wide headquarters for industrial strength barbeque and good food" has been cleared of the cars, all of the materials and such are properly stacked and the grills - all of the grills - are moved to the pavement and tarped, covered, stacked and parked.

The Fairchild has been undergoing restoration by George for nearly a dozen years.

The engine was painstakingly torn down, rebuilt with hard-to-find parts, and the entire fuselage, wings, struts, etc. were taken apart - inspected, repaired and/or replaced. The interior is restored to the camel hair and leather elegance it was born to.

For the past month or so the garage – where sails, the other wings, are hung to dry and work benches piled with projects – has been the converted paint shed while the fabric covered wings, tail section and assorted metal engine cowlings have been sanded, primed, sanded, painted, sanded, painted and clear-coated. Today the fuselage was loaded on the trailer and towed to the shop.

It was gently nursed into place and the make-shift build-out, done yesterday, to accommodate the huge rotary engine was just barely enough.

Today – only George can see it. His vision.

Someday, soon, it will look like the faded illustration that has hung on the wall for a dozen years.

I get a glimpse when he looks at me.  It’s in his eyes, what he sees when he gazes upon the parts. He doesn’t see the back breaking and tedious work done and yet to come. He is already soaring above the trees, the lakes and mountains. He is flying.

My grills can be patient. I understand his flight. It is real. My grills can be patient.

~blm