A Multitude of Miracles

Friday Morning Flight with Beth
Stowe, Vermont

Absolutely flyable weather for six out of six scheduled flights was miracle enough, but the week in Stowe with Maureen held blessings far beyond the sunny skies.

Maureen is the daughter I never had. While technically my cousin, she is the appropriate age to be my daughter, and I have loved her that way since I held her tiny little self a few days after she was born. Mo came to her first Stoweflake Balloon Festival in 2001, and has been my right arm/copilot/girl Friday/executive assistant there ever since. This being my last year as balloonmeister, we left Maine knowing the event would be extra poignant for us.

Real Cousin Maureen

After Maureen and I spent a couple days enjoying mountain trails and the company of good friends, the first batch of pilots arrived Thursday. Friday morning I ended up in a balloon basket with my friend, Beth. Sometimes I forget how much I loved flying all those years. And laughing with Beth.

Last December, one of our long-term pilots lost a sudden and vicious battle with cancer.  Unbeknownst to me, one of his last requests was to be sprinkled from his balloon at a few of his favorite events. So his student, Ben, brought Harry’s balloon, and Saturday morning we held all the others on the ground while they launched in silence and drifted peacefully over Shaw Hill.

As the rest of the aerostats inflated and stood up, a sudden gust of wind started knocking them around the field like weeblewobble toys. All deflated safely, and no one was hurt, but we laughed later that Harry had claimed this flight for himself, allowing only Gary to join him as escort. They landed calmly behind the hill by the way, after a beautiful journey.

Later that day, a local crew member invited Rastro and me to a small, impromptu concert by Tony DeBlois, a blind autistic musical savant who was staying with Barry at his B&B in Stowe. Meeting and hearing Tony was such an unexpected miracle, it still fills me with wonder. You can read Tony’s story on his web site, www.tonydeblois.com but the short version is that he plays 20 or so instruments, with a repertoire of more than 8,000 songs, and learns anything he hears instantly. On my iPhone, I played him a very intricate piano piece by one of my favorite composers, and he not only learned it, but offered several improvisations, which he performed with such joy it made all of us laugh with happiness. Hearing Rastro do the Chinook roo roo and a couple barks of applause as well, Tony instantly transitioned into an impromptu riff on “How Much is that Doggie in the Window.”

Tony hung out with us for the rest of the weekend, for dinner, pilot briefings, concerts on the field, all the usual balloon meet stuff. He whipped the festival band into shape in no time, teaching them songs and variations right on the stage. Sunday morning, we were able to get him aloft for his first balloon flight. (Tony already has a pilot log and time at the controls of an airplane.) To the delight of those who got up early enough for the morning launch, he played the balloon classic, “Up, Up and Away,” on his trumpet as the balloon floated into the calm morning sky.

I don’t have many relatives left on my father’s side of the family, but have kept in touch off and on with Brian, a third cousin twice removed or something like that. Brian’s wife, Charlane, joined us in Stowe this year, as crew for one of our teams. She was referred to as my pseudo-cousin for the weekend, Maureen being the real one of course. Sunday morning, Charlane’s pilot, Tim, invited me to fly and we soared into the sky for a classic Stowe morning -- high altitude steerage to the right toward the valley, low altitude shift to the left down its length, the miracle of perfection. It was a joyous way to close out 20 years of balloonmeistering, and 23 years of participation in my favorite event of all time.

The Perfect Morning Flight
July 10, 2011,  Stowe, Vermont

After a day of unpacking, laundry, kittens, mail, phone calls, and all that other post-vacation stuff, David and I took the dogs down to the beach right before dinner last night. Listening to the waves, picking our way along the rocky shore, watching Rastro and Zucchini play in the surf and snuffle for dead crabs, we discovered a miracle of Maine. Shining brightly in the sun was a rock with a delicate white feather painted on its surface by the sea. 

Sparkling in the sun, its perfection no less wondrous than Tony’s musical genius, it reminded me that miracles happen everywhere, and that the beauty of life fills the universe to bursting. 

Miniature Maine Miracle