I look at the moon a lot. I don't talk, bark, or bay at it, but for most of the year we maintain a casual acquaintanceship. I follow it through its phases, as it moves out of the dark, waxes higher each evening until it shines all night in brilliant round splendor. As it wanes through the third phase, it lights the wee hours of the morning. For the next four months, much of my flight time between here and New York will be in twilight , but from September to May I always know how much of a moon will help cut the winter darkness.
Sunday evening I sat in a lawn chair on the knoll behind the house, at the edge of the woods, at the edge of evening, and a long way from airplanes. I had spent the afternoon doing various yard projects, admiring the blue sky and the new- found shadows that the trees cast on the soft green grass. I listened to a gentle summer breeze rustle through the leaves above me, and thought of how it had whistled around bare branches only so recently. The full moon hung low in the eastern sky, so important to me all winter, but now just a grand celestial ornament.
Through the day all the birds checked in with their songs, as though on a roll- call. There were the usual songs of the winter birds, now much brighter and more vocal. Springtime's early birds were all there, the killdeer, blackbirds, robins, and others. Among the late comers I had heard the tohees, orioles, and catbirds. Springtime is not complete without the wood thrush though, and I hadn't heard one yet.
As I sat admiring a splendid day settle into a delightful evening, two wood thrushes filled the woods with song. I smiled a quiet thank- you, and felt a thrill come over me as I listened. One summer ends with the sound of south- bound geese, and the next one begins with the arrival of the wood thrush. I was pleased, satisfied, and just a bit thankful that I had made it through another winter.
Winter or summer, any day can be great for flying, but summer certainly has more great days than winter does. I have been "practicing" for the last few weeks, starting with the day I hacked my way through the ice piled in front of the hangar. I spent Easter Sunday goofing off on an all- day excursion, and I've made a few trips for lunch at Weedsport. Last Sunday morning I marked the official commencement of summer with a breakfast at Middlesex.
The Middlesex Airport Café opens on the first weekend of May, and serves breakfast every Saturday and Sunday until mid Autumn. Good friends and good food, all on a porch that overlooks a lush green expanse of runway. New arrivals are identified long before they land, just by noting the sound, silhouette, or colors of their airplane as they pass overhead.
Like the song of the wood thrush, breakfast at Middlesex marks the start of the summer season, and both are special to me. As we rush to embrace the sights and songs of summer, it is easy to forget the things that sustained us for the past months. We would have sorely missed the cardinals, blue jays, chicadees, and even the lowly sparrows and crows, if they left us for the winter too. Many of us have bird feeders, just to help them out.
Whitford's Airport near Weedsport also feeds the birds, sort of. All winter long, birds gather there from miles around for weekend breakfasts, and lunches on Wednesdays. There are yellow birds red ones, and blues, whites, and greens. Some roll in on wheels, others slide in on skis, and most show splatters of winter mud from their home fields. Rosie (with unacknowledged help from John) keeps the airport kitchen open all year around, feeding the bodies and sustaining the souls of this area's winter birds.
Summer is here, and eats are plentiful, but we don't forget that trips to Rosie's bird feeder helped us make it through the winter.
Rosie, out of the kitchen after feeding the birds, sitting at the head of the table on a Wednesday noon last winter. On Saturday and Sunday mornings the usual breakfast fare is available, but on Wednesdays, she prepares a lunch. The menu has only one entree; it always a surprise, and always good. Through the winter it is the week's premiere aeronautical attraction.