Time Waits For No Man, But Some Commuter Airlines Do

The lunch menu

Back in February, I did a whirlwind work trip for meetings and site visits in Washington, Idaho, Washington, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, Oregon, and then Iowa - on the last leg back to Maryland. The modes of transportation were planes, rental cars, cabs, and shuttles. I almost missed one of my connections between Pendleton and Portland, Oregon when my host and I were eating lunch in a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant. For some reason, my Blackberry started buzzing even though it was on silent mode. I checked, and it was a call from my secretary in Maryland trying to get hold of me because the SeaPort Airlines agent at the Eastern Oregon Regional Airport was calling asking whether I was going to catch my flight.

I said, "Yes, the flight is an hour from now, and we are just a mile or so from the airport."

My secretary replied, "No, it's right now, and they are holding the plane."

After a few more clarifying statements, we were off to the races in a pickup.

"I'll drop you at the door, you go and check in." My friend said.

When I rushed in the door, the airport was empty. I found my way to the hallway that led to the boarding gate - no metal detectors, no TSA agents. The ticket agent was out on the tarmac caught a glimpse of me and then looked at the pilot and gave the "cut the engine" sign.

She came in with me, friendly as friendly could be, looked at my ticket and entered me in the computer, and then back out the door we went.

As I boarded the plane, the pilot and copilot were sitting casually in a couple of seats, and immediately as I sat down, the pilot began a narrative explaining where the fire extinguisher was, the handle for releasing the door, and other features of the plane. I was the only passenger on the plane - no wonder they were so patient - no other airline I know of provides just-in-time arrival accommodations like this. 

He asked if I had any questions, and said, "You fly a lot, don't you?"

I replied, "Yes." He and the co-pilot smiled, and climbed into their cabin. They continued with the small talk. I asked whether either flew in the military. The co-pilot said no, but the pilot explained he was a Marine helicopter pilot, and then when he got out, it was less expensive to rent a plane than an helicopter to take family and friends flying, so kept at it and got his commercial license, and now this is where he is.

Being in a small plane, I was able to take pictures during the one hour flight from eastern Oregon to Portland. As I looked over the shots, I thought of a blog I wrote back in January 2010, with these photographs from that short trip fitting the verses.

We travel back west every December,

Home for Christmas,

Grown kids and and grand children in their homes,

No house of our own. 

Accommodating co-pilot and pilot

Early-morning drive to BWI,

Connecting flights through Midwest cities,

Hoping for good weather,

Eventually landing at PDX. 

Aerial boundaries - above the clouds

Whether clouds or not,

There, out the window, when

The plane gets low enough to the ground,

Postage-stamp-sized farm fields come into view.

Willamette Valley in February

Subtle brown earth tones where vegetables will grow in summer,

Accented dark and light-green hues of Douglas firs and lichen-covered oaks,

The approach skirts the Columbia River,

Parallel to the runways.

Vancouver, Washington across the Columbia River

Oregon on this side, Washington the other,

Only minutes earlier Mount Hood was eye level,

Adams, Rainier, and Saint Helens peak above,

Rolling mountains beside and beyond.

Mt. Hood, looking south

No matter how settled we feel in the east,

Living so far away from what is still familiar,

Even without our own house to gather,

This place we still call home.