Serenity in the air
Walkabout: PI
Happenings in the Star City
Once again we were privileged to see the sight of hot-air balloons gently rising and floating overhead this past weekend.
The Crown of Maine Balloon Fest is something so many people look forward to, and so much work goes into making it happen. There are festivities that go along with it, there are crowds, there is the unmistakable whooofff of the burners, but what captures the most attention is the vibrantly colored balloons soaring through the air, slowly drifting into morning or evening skies.
People run out in their yards, hoping to catch a glimpse – and maybe a picture – of one of the colorful giants. Others gather at the Northern Maine Fairgrounds to watch as the massive balloons are laid out and begin to fill, finally going upright, before they go aloft one by one. The reaction seems to be the same across all ages: people gaze upward, still, watching until the balloons are only tiny specks – and smile.
Though unfortunate wind kept an evening mass ascension from happening at the Fairgrounds this time around, pilots were able to launch in the mornings. Saturday evening’s launch from off the field, according to the festival Facebook page, took place near where the Brewer Road meets the Reach Road.
At the edge of a nearby field on the Higgins Road, I watched as each balloon rose up from behind the trees.
Though I’ve never gone up in a balloon (this would be the person who freaked out on the Ferris Wheel), the closest I can come to that is going up some of New Hampshire’s White Mountains via gondola.
My first ride was up Wildcat Mountain. Looking up at that small, enclosed bucket swinging from that little arm attached to a miniscule pulley made me quake. But you knew that.
I went up on a dare. Somebody said, “You won’t dare go up in that. You can’t make the second step on a stepladder.”
I looked up at that beautiful mountain as morning mist swirled, and I said confidently, “Of course I’ll go up.”
I strapped into the gondola, and we headed up. The surroundings at that point were invisible – to me, because my eyes were welded shut.
The gondola swayed. But I didn’t want to miss it. I gulped, and opened one eye – and beheld beauty. I opened the other eye.
Then I couldn’t stop looking around. It was breathtaking to be rising into the clouds, up the side of that mountain, seeing shadowed valleys and lush green and outcrops of granite in every direction. It reached a point where, suddenly, all was silent – you could barely hear the gondola gliding on the cables, let alone any noise from below. It was so perfectly serene.
And I couldn’t wait to do it again.
That’s a word I hear often from people who have been up in a balloon: “serene.”
I’ve heard someone say it’s like leaving the world behind.
Maybe that’s why they capture our attention. We lead busy lives – sometimes too busy. We have lots of technology – sometimes too much. And we don’t stop often enough to just gaze at what’s around us.
The simple sight of a balloon – a helium-filled shell attached to a basket – evokes nostalgia and makes us stop. No matter what the cares of the day are, we just have to watch – and leave the world behind.
It happened again yesterday morning just after sunrise. On the edge of my subconscious I heard it: Whooooffff. Whooff. Whooooofffff.
I got up and ran to the window – and saw it through the trees, rising, floating, a blaze of color touched with early sunlight. And just stood, and gazed … and smiled.
