The Sedan

Four months later, after hundreds of hours of our weekend labor, and hundreds more by our mechanic friend, we rolled the Sedan out of the hangar and into the sunshine for a last inspection. My heart pounded as I buckled into the left seat to become the official test pilot. She was a little cranky after so many months of confinement, but finally her engine fired, and the sound was music to my ears. I taxied up and down the runway a few times to be sure all the controls were working properly, then lined up for take-off.

I took a deep breath, pushed the throttle forward, and before I could think about the consequences of mechanical failure, the old girl and I were airborne. She was born to fly. She elevated, and elevated my spirit. Her aluminum wings sparkled in the sunshine, rocking slightly in the river of air that flows above the valley. I circled the airport for half an hour, testing all her systems, banking, climbing, and descending, until I was sure she was sound.

I landed as gently as possible, taxied back to the hangar, and dismounted with wobbly knees. I stroked her warm cowling in appreciation for a safe flight. The Sedan really was the beauty I had seen disguised by neglect, and we have shared many wonderful adventures since that day. I named her “Querencia,” which, loosely translated, means “where the heart is.”

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