“Where are we going?” I rested my hand on his leg.
“Got somethin’ I wanna show you,” he flashed a lopsided grin. “Think you’ll find it interesting.”
The road curved around a small hill and a large hangar building appeared ahead, sitting beside what was clearly an airstrip. The runway was grass with a windsock fluttering at one end.
“The airfield,” I whispered reverently.
“The airfield,” Finn confirmed, pulling up next to the hangar. The building was substantial but weathered, large enough to house a small aircraft and then some.
We climbed out of the truck and Maggie immediately trotted off to investigate the area. Finn led me toward the large doors that stood partway open. As we got closer, I could see the distinctive yellow wing inside.
“There she is.” I heard genuine affection in his voice.
The Piper J-3 Cub sat in the hangar like a piece of aviation history, her fabric skin gleaming in the morning light filtering through the open doors. Classic yellow with a black lightning stripe, just the way I’d seen them in photos.
“She’s gorgeous,” I walked slowly around the plane. The fabric covering looked pristine, the metal fittings polished and well-maintained. It was delicate-looking, with graceful lines that spoke to an era when aircraft were built by craftsmen. “Much smaller than I expected, though.”
“Most people say that,” Finn moved to the propeller, running his hand along one of the wooden blades. “But that’s part of what makes her so perfect. Every input you give her, she reacts immediately. No lag time, no computer systems between you and the sky.”
I moved toward the cockpit and peered through the sidewindow at the simple instrument panel. Just the basics: airspeed, altitude, compass, and a few engine gauges. Nothing like the complex displays I’d seen in pictures of modern planes.
“She’s in such great condition.”
“Worked on her with my grandpa when I was younger and did some little upgrades between deployments when I was home,” Finn opened the cowling to show me the engine. “She was pretty rough when he got’er. Engine needed a complete rebuild, all new wiring, updated avionics for safety.”
His voice grew more enthusiastic as he talked, hands moving to point out different systems. He knew every component, every upgrade that had been made.
“Is she airworthy?”
“Absolutely. Annual inspection was done in March, and she gets flown regularly, Mom takes her up sometimes with the kids in the back, and they have a couple pilots on the ranch who keep her exercised,” Finn pulled out a logbook from a compartment behind the seats. “Every flight recorded, every maintenance item documented.”
I flipped through the pages, seeing entries going back years. Finn’s neat handwriting from long ago, replaced by other hands, his mother’s flowing script, a mechanic’s blocky print, Finn’s handwriting reappearing every so often. Every entry was thorough, professional.
“Tell me about learning to fly in her,” I settled onto a wooden crate near the wing to rest a minute.
Finn’s expression shifted, becoming more nostalgic. “I was nine when Grandpa first took me up. Scared to death and absolutely hooked at the same time.” He ran his hand along the wing strut. “When I turned fourteen, he taught me how to fly. No fancy simulators or computer aids, just stick and rudder and learning to feel what the airplane was telling you.”
“What was that like?”
“Magic.” Just a single word, but his eyes lit up as he said it. “Up there, everything made sense. The rules were clear, physics, cause and effect. If you did something stupid, she’d let you know immediately. If you did it right, she’d reward you with the most incredible feeling of freedom.”
“I spent every spare moment I could out here with him,” he continued. “Learning pre-flight inspections, basic maneuvers, emergency procedures. By the time I soloed at sixteen, flying felt as natural as breathing.”
“That’s incredible,” I could picture it; teenage Finn and his grandfather, working together in this same hangar, building skills that would eventually take him to the Navy and around the world.
Finn was quiet for a moment, lost in the memories before turning to me. “I could teach you to fly her. If you wanted.”
I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” he moved toward the cockpit, gesturing to the front seat. “You’ve got the right kind of mind for it, systematic, detail-oriented, excellent at processing complex information. And this is the best airplane to learn in.”
I got up as Finn opened the pilot door, showing me the tandem seating arrangement. “Front seat for the student, back seat for the instructor. Everything’s in working order.”
“And would I actually fit in there?” I eyed the narrow cockpit with some concern.
“Absolutely. She’s roomier than she looks, and the seat adjusts.” Finn demonstrated the seat mechanism. “Plus, the J-3 was designed for training, they made sure students of all sizes could be comfortable.”
“Okay… what about your motion sensitivity? Would it be too much for you?”
