Christmas means different things to different people. For some it’s the anticipation of waking up to a pile of brightly wrapped gifts under a real pine tree festooned with finery in the living room.
Some of us revel in the ability to see relatives, including our own children, whose lives have taken them to new places far from home.
A few even use our time to help others, be that the Salvation Army bell ringer outside our local grocery store or a family we are aware of that has fallen on hard times.
Christmas is good, no matter what your personal connection to it might be. Or at least it can be.
On this past Christmas, well after the presents had been distributed, the tasty treats had been eaten, the sun had set, and the day after Christmas drew near, my little family had the great pleasure of welcoming a young couple to our home for their winter vacation. A young woman I know well and a young man I know only from a single FaceTime call arrived on our doorstep. They’re using our home as a base of operations as they tour Florida and experience a winter very different from the one they left behind in Germany.
This international connection didn’t begin on my front porch, however. It got its start in 2011 in Deggendorf, Germany. A picturesque town on the Danube River where an American softball team was slated to play a Bavarian softball team. My daughter was a pitcher on that American team. Our young houseguest played for the opposition.
The Bavarian’s had no pitching. That’s a problem. Enough, in fact, that it would have led to a profoundly unsatisfying forfeit.
To avoid that outcome my daughter suited up in a Bavarian Jersey and took the mound against her own countrymen (or countrywomen in this case) to ensure the game could go on. The Americans handily beat the Bavarians. But the score is almost entirely beside the point of this story.
A chance meeting on a single day for a game that was of no real importance to the wider world has resulted in a relationship that has spanned an ocean and lasted for more than a decade. Our family has become acquainted with her family and vice versa. The lives of two individuals became linked by a random event, which has led to the lives and dreams of two extended families being connected and appreciated.
Our visitors, knowing my affection for aviation, asked if we could visit the seaplane base near our home. Neither of them have ever experienced seaplanes before. General aviation is not nearly as popular or prevalent in Germany as it is in the U.S.
So, the plan was made. When the sun rose we would make the short trek to Jack Brown’s Seaplane Base.
Brown’s has trained an enormous percentage of the world’s seaplane pilot population. Tens of thousands of them. Yet, when my party showed up for a visit there was no training going on. The ceiling was down to 200 feet with less than 2 miles visibility. The air hung wet and still over the region. The surface of the lakes were glassy, only occasionally being disturbed by frolicking waterfowl or the flash of a jumping fish.
Weather-delayed instructors collected on the dock to eat donuts and swap stories. They were ready to fly, even if the weather was not. Out of an abundance of caution, they waited. Their students adopted the same chill attitude. The ceiling would rise eventually.
What could be seen as a disappointment was a blessing in disguise. The aircraft were beached or docked or sitting on a trolley ready to be transferred to the water when the weather improved. My guests peered into cockpits in awe.
The spare panel of the SuperCub surprised them. The glass panel in the center of the Legend Cub’s instrument cluster intrigued them. Just as the round engine on the de Havilland Beaver caught their eye. A Cessna 172 sat high on its floats in the maintenance hangar, its interior largely removed for inspection.
She is an engineer at Mercedes Benz with a focus on human factors. He is an engineer at Zeiss, designing microprocessors so small and intricate that a single piece of dust can ruin the product. Both were absolutely fascinated by a collection of decades old tube and fabric aircraft on floats. Their technical minds marveled at the simplicity of the aircraft even as they recognized the extraordinary utility of machines that could launch and land from lakes and rivers.
A day earlier they’d been seated in the fuselage of a Boeing 777 for nearly 10 hours. A 737-800 carried them to Florida from their initial landing point in North America. Aircraft that carried them across an ocean in a shirtsleeve environment didn’t impress them all that much. That’s just transportation. Buy a ticket, take a flight. No big deal.
This was different. These single-engine classic aircraft capture the heart. They fire the imagination. They’re so basic in their controls and instrumentation that a non-pilot can get the gist of what’s what within a few minutes.
Yet the friendly chatter of the instructor’s wafting across the water made it clear there is no boredom here. These people have a real affection for what they do, whether turning a wrench in the hangar or guiding students through the intricacies of flying a seaplane off the water and safely bringing it back home.
My guests climbed into the truck for the short ride home with smiles plastered on their faces. They asked more questions during the ride. They marveled at what they’d seen and touched. They reflected on the people they’d met.
General aviation touched their hearts as it did mine all those years ago.
Spread the joy when you can. After many years, so many annual inspections, multiple flight reviews, and an untold number of weather delays, it is possible to become slightly jaded about the wonder of aviation. But I suspect you’ll find, as I have, that introducing non-pilots who have a fresh set of eyes to even the most benign aeronautical experience can have great effect. Two very pro-aviation converts will be returning to Germany soon, sharing a story that will inspire and motivate at least a few of their peers. I have no doubt of this.
Yes, Christmas was good this year. The memories we created will last for many years to come, on at least two continents.
