It was a warm August afternoon in 1954. My mother, sister, baby brother, and I were picking blackberries at an abandoned airstrip on the eastern shore of Lake Washington. These days, it is Newport. Then, it was the site of the Newcastle airport—an abandoned WWII airstrip. The drone of an airplane’s engine was heard approaching. I caught site of the airplane as it entered its downwind leg for landing, approaching the base leg. I watched in awe as the yellow Piper Cub turned 90 degrees onto its final approach, coming right towards me and my family. When he landed, the pilot taxied his airplane near to where we were picking berries. He then turned off the engine and hopped out. Walking over to us, he was for all the world God to me. I was mesmerized by him and his airplane. When he asked my mother if he could give me a ride, I knew he was heaven sent...
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