Spring is here. The crocuses always know.

Not much happening here, unless you’re my neighbors down the road and behind. A small airplane crashed into their house today.

The radio and tv stations, and the police band, were saying only that the plane crashed into a house near the airport, and since that fits my house’s description, my phone started ringing off the hook with concerned friends. To those concerned friends: I thank you all for caring. That means a lot.

The small airport just a little ways down the road gets a lot of traffic. Besides the many local people with small planes, the airport is used a lot by General Motors and Ford, and various other businesses in this area. The Navy uses it a lot, too; there’s a huge naval base near here. That’s right, a naval base right in southern Indiana. A really, really big one, too. We’ve lived here for thirty years, and I know of only three serious mishaps concerning the airport, counting the guy on the motorcycle who was killed by a deer. We’re not allowed to skate on the runways any more because of the deer.

But then, I’m from a generation that played close to incredible danger and didn’t even know it. We used to lie on the banks beside the railroad tracks, our toes almost touching the rails, so we could feel the breeze as the train sped past. We used to walk through those huge sewer pipes, during the dry season, and pretend they were caves. There were a lot of them right in the middle of town, and we called them all “Dead Man’s Cave.” And since this is southern Indiana, there were, of course, real caves everywhere. And quarries! But I digress.

It’s spring, even though the calendar doesn’t know it yet. And I am feeling very fortunate today; my house is intact and so am I.

God bless the family of the pilot.