I was standing twelve steps from the downwind side of the grain field waving a flag that consisted of an old shirt tied to a long stick. My husband of two months, a full time university student, was also an agricultural pilot during the summer. He had needed a flagger and I had wanted to see him fly the sprayer, so here I was, waiting for the action to start. I could hear the airplane just beyond the trees. Suddenly it exploded into view just over the trees, heading straight for me. It looked more like some menacing mechanical pterodactyl than an airplane.

"Holy shit, it's going to hit me." I panicked. I dropped the flag and fled for the shelter of the nearest tree along the edge of the field.

The sprayer passed with a whoosh and headed for the far end of the field, looking like a mammoth tarantula perched on a pedestal of fog. In less than a minute, it disappeared between the trees.

"Between the trees - the damn fool is going to kill himself and leave me with his unborn child." My fear had turned into anger. I knew Jim was good. I had flown with him myself. He was fond of saying that he didn't fly an airplane - he wore it. And he did. He handled an airplane as easily as I applied lip gloss. But did he have to be so damn casual about it?

 
 

I picked up my flag, paced twelve more steps into the field from where I had previously dropped it and angrily waved it back and forth. I could hear the savage roar of the engine as Jim completed his turn more than a mile away. The plane was still heavily loaded. The first pass would have taken only thirty pounds of the one thousand pound load, and Jim was using lots of power in the turns.

The plane dropped silently into the field on the far end and headed straight toward me, following the rows of grain gently waving over the soft soil. I faced into the slight breeze and took twelve more steps. In just over half a minute the sprayer passed, its engine roaring loudly and propeller clawing the air. It was still carrying well over nine hundred pounds, I figured, and climbing to clear the trees on my end of the field. As the plane disappeared over the trees I positioned myself facing the direction from which it would return and proceeded to wave the flag. I also prepared myself to promptly take twelve orderly steps into the wind as soon as I saw the plane returning. Jim had stressed that taking the correct number of steps was important. If I took too few we would wastefully spray some rows twice. If I took too many we would get skips. We wanted to spray all rows once, and only once. As part of the preparation for this job he had asked me to pace the width of the airplane from wingtip to wingtip. I had done it several times. It took twelve steps.

Jim had assured me that he could see me as soon as I saw the plane and there was no need to continue waving. I took him at his word. As soon as I saw the plane I started pacing. I had plenty of time.

"Hey, this isn't so bad after all." I thought. I was getting the hang of it.

Jim did not yet know he was going to be a father. If I had told him, he would not have let me come out here and do this. I would tell him a few days later.

Having grown up on a farm myself, I was pretty sure I knew what he was spraying, but I had asked - just to be sure. Spray pilots always work into the wind, both to avoid spraying the flagger and to avoid flying through the spray. Still, being newly pregnant, I didn't want to take any chances with toxic chemicals. Today's potion, he explained, wasn't even a poison - it was a sort of growth hormone. It caused the leaves on broad leaf weeds to grow faster than the roots, thereby starving the weed. It was definitely not toxic to people.

About three weeks later, just after dinner, Jim got up to answer a knock on the front door. He returned with a well dressed man carrying a brief case. "Irene, this is Joe Huber. He sells life insurance. I asked him to come over." The man with the brief case looked a little puzzled. Life insurance salesmen don't usually have people call and ask to buy insurance.

"Want cream or sugar?" asked Jim as the two men headed for the kitchen table.

"Black," responded Joe.

"I just completed a class on insurance at the University, so I pretty much know the questions you need to ask," stated Jim as he set Joe's coffee cup on the table. "Irene and I have been married about three months now, and she tells me I am going to be a daddy. I think I need some life insurance."

"It is really great to meet someone so responsible," said Joe. "Usually we have to talk people into buying it."

The men sat down at the kitchen table and commenced to go through the formalities of applying for life insurance. When asked his normal occupation, Jim had answered "University student." They had gone through most of the application when the subject of hobbies, avocations and part time jobs came up. Jim said "I fly sprayers."

Joe Huber sat straight up in his chair and asked "You do what?"

"I fly sprayers - you know - agricultural aircraft."

"That's what I thought you said," replied Joe, getting up from the table and closing his briefcase.

"Hey, where you going? I thought you were selling me life insurance," protested Jim.

"Man, I can't sell you life insurance. When you quit flying sprayers I'll be glad to come back. Thanks for the coffee."

Jim let Joe out the front door. He stood looking at me and said "I thought it was a little risky - but not that risky." I was speechless. Tears welled up in my eyes. I was pregnant and now I discovered I was married to a guy involved in something so dangerous he couldn't even buy life insurance. I retreated to the security of my bedroom and resumed work on a baby blanket I had been knitting. I needed time to think this whole thing over.

Later that summer I went to visit Jim at a job site. He had been away from home a lot, spraying in other parts of the state. We went out to dinner and returned to his rented apartment quite late. When the alarm radio on his side of the bed came on, Jim rolled out of bed, turned off the alarm, made a pot of coffee, got dressed and left. He was careful not to wake me, but I woke anyway. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. I had a cup of coffee, a couple cigarettes, and read a little. Off in the distance I heard the roar of his engine. I decided to go watch him work.

He was spraying a potato field not far from the apartment. I drove around the field looking for the flagger. I found him on a narrow access road between the potato field and an adjacent fallow piece. There were no power lines or phone lines. I drove onto the access road, being careful not to get so close that my car would be sprayed by the drift which was blowing toward me. It looked like Jim was almost finished with the piece, and none to soon. The wind was beginning to pick up. I could see the wings of the plane rocking slightly in the turns and I knew that Jim would quit after this piece.

I watched Jim drop silently into the field on the far end, descending over a huge power line and a tangle of phone lines. He proceeded to cross the field in front of me, banked crisply in my direction as he finished the pass, and then banked crisply in the opposite direction to complete his turn and reenter the field. The plane sounded like a muffled lawn mower. It was now lightly loaded and Jim was using very little power, even in the turns.

The flagger was standing squarely in front of the trees, mechanically waving his flag from side to side. This would be the last pass. Jim would ignore the flagger, count the rows himself, complete this pass and any necessary end passes by the power line and be back at the airport in a few minutes. I put the car into reverse to back out of the field, intending to be at the airport when Jim landed.

As the sprayer lined up for the final pass, the flagger ceased waving and ran for his bike. To my horror, I realized that the flagger was heading squarely into the flight path of the sprayer, now closely approaching the field at just under 100 mph and not over 3 feet off the ground. I was paralyzed. I couldn't watch. I couldn't not watch. This kid was a heartbeat away from being splattered all over the potato field. The sprayer lurched upward, its wheels missing the kid's head by what looked like inches. It stopped in mid air, rotated around itself, then slammed into the ground backward. It had hit a tree limb with its right wing tip.

I jammed the car into gear and smashed my way through weeds, brush and potato vines to where the plane sat, looking like some pathetic broken bird. Jim was standing beside it with his helmet in his hand. He appeared OK - almost. His face was slate gray - the color of a tombstone - and his hands were shaking. But he wasn't bleeding and he wasn't dead.

I jumped from the car and ran to his side. My knees were shaking so bad I could hardly stand. I grabbed him around the body and sobbed, "Thank God you are alive." We stood, we shook, and we hugged.

Jim then climbed onto the left wing, rechecked that all electrical switches were off and climbed into the passenger side of the car. I drove him to the airport. He went to the phone, made a short call and returned to the car. "The boss will be here in a couple hours. I'm to meet him here. He's bringing the twin." Jim's boss, owner of the spray company, also owned an air charter company and flew charter in a twin engine Beechcraft when he wasn't spraying. Jim sat in the car looking very glum. "I suppose my spraying days are over." He was afraid he would be fired. I hoped he would be - and tried not to show it.

We drove to town for breakfast.

"Jim, I want to go with you to the airport. I saw what happened. If you hadn't turned when you did the kid would be dead. It wasn't your fault." I wanted him fired, but I didn't want him blamed. I just wanted him doing something safe. I wanted him happy. I wanted me happy. I didn't know what I wanted.

"Irene, flying the plane was my job - not the kids job. I hit the tree. I'll tell the boss. I would appreciate it very much if you would drop me off at the airport and then wait for me at the apartment." Jim was firm. For once in my life, I did as he asked.

After meeting with his boss, Jim stopped by the apartment briefly. He looked very relieved. "I'll be back in three - maybe four hours. I'm going back to base with the boss to get another plane. I've got spraying to do. Love you." And he was gone.

"Damn."

Jim finished the job and the season. Pete was born in the spring. He was a healthy baby. Jim never flew sprayers again. When we are driving through farming country and he sees a sprayer working he slows up to watch - and says nothing. I wonder what he is thinking, but don't ask. Some things are better left unsaid.
 
 

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