Saturday, Motor Man and I helped our hot air balloon-pilot friend, Mark, and his crew with two flights: one in the morning and another in the afternoon.
It was a beautiful autumn day, perfect for a balloon flight. Or two.
This is a common sight in our county these days: cotton, all picked and baled. It will soon be picked up in a huge truck and delivered to one of the local cotton gins.
A little fall foliage in the foreground…
And flying over the Pagan River, one of our many estuaries.
This is Smithfield Station Restaurant/hotel/marina, located on the Pagan.
The morning flight landed at the edge of a field near an old barn. Understandably so, a neighbor called 911, thinking it had crashed.
A deputy responded, confirmed with the pilot and all the passengers that the balloon had indeed NOT crashed and went on his way, wishing us all well.
If there’s one thing Motor Man and I have learned about hot air ballooning, it’s that no two flights are ever the same.
Saturday flights, like most of them, did have a couple of things in common: very nice passengers and a gorgeous day to fly. (Or take pictures from the ground.)
~These Days Of Mine~