Chapter Six: First Flight

By 1935, at eighteen years old, Ervin was ready for his first solo flight. His plane was a 1930 Taylor Craft Piper. His runway was Reed Field. His destination was Westford Airfield, approximately 100 miles away.

He had done this route on paper a hundred times — mapped the weather, checked landmarks, and memorized every detail of the journey. But this was the first time he would face the skies alone. Jamie stood beside the plane as Ervin prepared. “Keep your wits about you,” he said. “Remember — the sky is your friend. It’ll tell you everything if you know how to listen.”

The takeoff from Reed Field was smooth. The fields below spread out like a quilt, familiar and comforting, as he settled into his route heading east.

Then, midway through the journey, the sky changed. Dark clouds gathered over a small mountain range ahead, and the plane began to buck and jolt with unexpected turbulence. Rain spattered the windshield. Out of the corner of his eye, Ervin caught sight of a hawk — gliding gracefully through the very same turbulent air, adjusting effortlessly to each new gust. He smiled, took a lesson from the bird, and flew on.

He broke through the clouds to find Westford Airfield spread out below him. He landed smoothly, refueled, and flew home under clear skies — the sun now bathing the landscape in warm light, casting long shadows across the fields and rivers. For the first time, he understood the quiet beauty of flying alone, where every sound and every view was his alone to experience.

Jamie was waiting at Reed Field. He said nothing. He simply put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and nodded. Ervin was a pilot.