The still, cool air is a pleasant surprise for those who keep their airplanes at the longest public-use grass strip in southern Florida known as the Indiantown Airport.
Old trucks and Mercedes drive the rutted half-mile dirt road off of Citrus Highway each weekend morning to park in the grass next to a hangar many airplanes call home. When the stars are still in the sky on a fog-free night, company comes soon after first light. Everyone wants to clear the ground and fly along the canals that edge Lake Okeechobee when there isn't a bump in the sky.
"Clear prop!" resounds across the open field. A radial engine burps out a plume of light-blue smoke to clear the residual oil that coats the pistons when it first begins to fire. The engine runs slightly rough as the fuel feeds to the top cylinders, then settles back down to the rumble that only a round engine can make. Big, black, wet tires sling the dew onto the wings as grasshoppers and ants scurry to avoid the mechanical beast coming their way.
The pilot is alone in the cockpit with only goggles and earplugs as he runs the checklist stored in his head. Full static rpm tells everyone that the big oil tank is warm to the touch, and the pilot taxis out to fly.
The biplane lifts off in the first few hundred feet and steadily climbs overhead. Five hundred feet, one thousand, two thousand, and the ground-bound watch it glide back and forth in upswept circles and slow, tight turns hanging on God's invisible thread. As an hour passes, friends drink coffee and watch the slipping biplane glide to land at the beginning of the 6,300-foot runway.
As the Saturday begins, each will take a turn to escape for a moment and enjoy the freedom of flight and return to share the common bond that is grass-roots aviation. It all began 100 years ago, as one brother took flight and the other brother proudly watched him be the first to conquer the sky. — René St. Julien
St. Julien is an air traffic controller at the Pratt & Whitney plant in Jupiter, Florida, and flies a Waco UPF-7, among other tailwheel aircraft.
"From the porch, you can see the dark green of the orange groves, the lighter green of the runway, and watch the breeze float the windsock and move through the big tree. Sometimes the breeze is sweet from the orange blossoms, and often a lone plane will be air-dancing overhead — the engine music an accent to the quiet." — Bonnie Schubert was inspired by her mother to buy an airplane. She owns and flies a Maule MX-7.
"When you turn final on a mile-long grass runway, you realize that someone has to mow it. It takes 15 minutes to mow a 20-foot pass and the strip is 250 feet wide. When you touch down, look for the blue tractor and land well clear — you have just landed past the most important person at a grass airport." — René St. Julien
"By the grace of God, I can still fly and I can still mow." — Clyde Dawson owns Indiantown Airport.
"The Tiger Moth was once owned and flown by author Richard Bach. This is my favorite plane now. My best experience in any plane had to be the years of flying right seat in our [Douglas] DC-3 with my husband and four sons through Mexico and most of the United States. Less flying, but plenty of hours as a referee. What do I love about flying? What's there not to love? It keeps me intensely aware and alive." — Elaine Harrison is a flight instructor in airplanes and gliders.
"Have I ever taught anyone to fly? Yes. It is a tremendous source of satisfaction to have someone solo after the first 15 or 20 hours of doing everything they can to kill the both of us." — Joseph E. Miller is a retired lieutenant commander, U.S. Navy.
"Flying the Deuce gives me a tremendous sense of getting away. Sometimes when I get back from flying the Boeing 777, I just go up and fly circles in the sky, 80- or 90-degree bank turns, and I get a feeling of release." — Sam White is a pilot for American Airlines.
"Dawn patrol down the beach at sunrise is my favorite time to fly — the pure joy of open-cockpit flying!" — Kathy Robinson and her husband Larry are aerial photographers.
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