I would like to believe that we have come to the happy ending of our long winter story. It has been cold for so long that seeing a forecast of fifty degrees was just an abstraction; In my mind I conjured no feeling for what it might mean to walk outdoors and be warm in shirt-sleeves. The only thought that went through my mind was that we would simply trade snow for mud.

I have kept myself amused and constructively occupied this winter, but these first rays of warm sunshine filtered into a mind that was as gray as the underside of our winter sky. For a long time now, I have subconsciously thought that it was a normal part of life to shovel snow, to wear layers of clothing, and to tend the wood furnace as though it was a baby.

Much the same thing had happened to me at work too. I had learned to accommodate all the annoyances of winter flight, and learned to accept landscapes of white and gray as being pretty. Like school bus drivers, we are paid for what we are able to do, not for our everyday routine. Most flights in the company plane involve nothing more than sitting in the front seat and doing what you are told.

Personal flying, 'flyin'" as I like to call it, is so much different than that. Some days I don't know for sure where I am going until I am airborne, and I am never sure of what route I will take to get there. It is all whim, but it has been all too infrequent this winter. In four months I made only one cold and uncomfortable trip. I had started to confuse what I do at work for goin' flyin'.

I discovered this confusion on Friday morning when I went to my plane's hilltop airport just to see if a flight would be possible. It had snowed all of Thursday, but prior to that we'd had a bit of snow melt "around the edges". Any rational person would have looked at the drifted snow and driven back down the hill, but I just drove back and forth on the runway, packing the new snow. I was quietly negotiating with myself, trying to put a good face on a bad deal, and in the end, I was successful.

I almost changed my mind before starting the plane, and again just as I started my take- off, but I didn't. By the time I was airborne, I was too far behind schedule to actually go anywhere, so I just

flew a wide and whimsical circle around the southwest corner of the county. I looked out to the distant horizons and thought of what I would see if I flew in that direction for an hour. This would be a short flight though, and I contented myself with the thought that the engine was happier now that warm oil was being slung around into all its nooks and crannies. Engines last longer if they are run regularly.

Airplanes last longer too, if one wheel doesn't catch a snow bank on landing, and that was crowding my happy thoughts as I flew around. With the short and narrow runway that was available, there was little room for error, and I had a quick thought that told me just how badly I have missed flyin'. I thought "how can I do this?!"...There is no VASI or glideslope to tell me the approach is on target, and I have no flaps to steepen the approach, nor a reversing propeller to help me slow after landing...

The landing was just fine, despite my silly thought, but I was absolutely stunned that I should have conjured such a thing. I am the guy that used to hang an towel over the students' instrument panel, so that they would learn to look, listen, and feel. I was ashamed that for the smallest and most fleeting part of a moment, I had thought like a flatlander.

The plane had been exercised, and I had renewed my acquaintance with the elegance of its simplicity, but when the flight was over I realized how much I had missed being able to just fly around. I was anxious to fly somewhere, but fully expected to be grounded by the mud for a week, until more seasonal weather froze the ground overnight.

I did all the springtime things for the rest of Friday and on Saturday and had a wonderful time. The clear sky on Saturday night let the day's heat radiate from the ground, and the mud crusted over enough for me to make a quick flight on Sunday morning. I was up early, and in the air not long after sunup, heading for Avoca.

I have been there before, but not often enough. The diner in town opens early seven days a week, and the summertime ice cream stand is open til past dark... and there is a private landing strip right at the edge of town. As I drifted over the ridges and valleys that run southward to the Cohocton River valley, I gave a quiet thanks that our area is so easy to admire, and that there are so many nice places to fly.

As I walked through the little village, the morning air chilled my face, even as the sun was warming my back. I listened to the birds as they excitedly discussed the coming day. The raucous crows were in the background as usual, but the lowly sparrows were right up front with their chatty greeting. Robins clucked and a few sang short notes, while cardinals and finches called from the trees. A mourning dove joined in for a while and the starlings, of course, were everywhere.

It was like all the past springtimes that I had walked through this and other towns. Hearing, seeing, and feeling these things once again helped bridge the gap of a long flightless winter, and brightened my eyes with the expectation of another summer. Winter is not yet gone, but last weekend was summertime. I flew to one of my favorite destinations, had breakfast and returned just before the ground thawed. I now declare that the new season has begun!

Rattlin' along just after sunup, westbound to Avoca.

Parked at the end of the airstrip in Avoca. It looks like midwinter but the temperature was warming, and the birds were singing.