To all those men in our past and present who have stepped up to the plate to take responsibility for supporting their families with their labors, time and love. There are many in our lives and among our families that have stepped in when father's were missing also.
 |
| My Vernon, Johnson, Lowe, Stevens, Hortin, Wilkins fahers are my heritage. |
 |
| My day and mom, he died 72 years ago today. |
|
-->
THE OLD AIRPORT by Lin Floyd
Milford, Utah June 18, 1945
Outside of town, an empty hangar stands
alone in
a forgotten place.
Breezes blow through a tattered windsock.
Stacks of
tumbleweeds trapped
by sagebrush long for release from barriers,
to fly
away to freedom...new adventures.
No airplanes use this empty landing strip now.
Weeds
take control of runways
once filled with private flying machines:
World War
II Piper Cubs used
to train military pilots for armed conflict,
sold as
surplus...after the war.
Just a simple metal frame covered by
thin
linen with tandem seating.
Fuel tank in back balanced the engine
with one
propeller in front.
An inexpensive way...to promote
the popular
pastime of flying.
As a young girl not yet five, I remember
soaring over
this sacred sanctuary
before my father left on his last...final flight.
