There’s a time for a well-planned vacation and a time to just let the moments flow over you. Despite my post at Brava Authors asking for suggestions on how to spend our long Patriots Day weekend, my DH and I ended up letting the time off wash over us. But despite not having a real plan, we managed to have a little adventure anyway.
My DH is a private pilot. We used to own a Cessna 182, but sold it before we moved to Boston. He learned to fly when we lived in Utah, so many of our hundreds of hours in the air were spent winding through mountain passes. We also made several cross country flights back to visit family in the midwest. Our longest trip was repositioning the plane from Seattle to Missouri when we moved.
When we sold the plane, I thought those adventures might be over, but the flying bug has bit the DH again. So on Saturday, we drove over to Bedford, MA to see what it would take to get him current again. It’s a nice airfield with a busy flight school where he met an instructor (whose last name is Nutt, but nevertheless seemed a thoroughly sensible fellow) with whom he’d like to take some refresher lessons.
So next time you see a small plane over New England, it might just be us! I’d love to fly down to Martha’s Vineyard and touch down on the well-manicured grass strip there.
On our way to the airfield, we happened to pass Minute Man National Park. Since it was about time to commemorate the ride of Paul Revere, a troop of re-enactors were on site, preparing for the Monday celebration.
I have the utmost respect for re-enactors. These folks are dead serious about their history and want to get it right down to the horn buttons on their waistcoats! The Minute Man site is impressive too, a sprawling park where the original altercation between a group of colonials who kept their muskets at the ready and 700 British Grenadiers and Regulars sparked the Revolutionary War.
General Gage and his men had tramped out to Lexington because arms and artillery that could be used against His Majesty’s forces were rumored to be stockpiled there. They enjoyed a brief victory against the Minute Men, whom they outnumbered, but then had to fight for their lives all way back to Boston. After the “shot heard round the world” rang out, the militia joined the fray, 4000 strong.
Once the battle was joined, the colonists didn’t wage war by European standards (forming up in neat lines and exchanging shots like gentlemen). They fought guerilla-style, as they’d learned during the French and English war a couple decades earlier.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m thoroughly on the American side. But as I looked around at the sometimes boggy countryside, I imagined how desperate the situation was for the British. How very far from home the average soldier must have felt. How many frenzied prayers must have been uttered as they fought their way back to the relative safety of their billets in Boston.
So that was our accidental adventure last weekend. Have you ever had one overtake you when you weren’t looking for it?