After Mom passed away, her brother kept her memory alive for me through stories. He would tell an impressionable little girl about the airplane she brought home as wings and laundry baskets full of parts, only to be put together in their parents’ garage before she married my dad.
My cousins have memories of playing in the airplane when they were little. They said only the small kids were allowed around it, one even imagining she was skydiving out of the fabric-covered metal frame. These stories were my only connection to a mother I barely remembered. Dad didn’t talk much about her, so any information about what Mom was like or what she did was precious.
As I grew older, I discovered she had brought home an Aeronca Chief, which left not long after the project was finished. It was a mere footnote in her life, something unique for the time, yet it fascinated me.
After moving to Dayton and slowing down, it took on more significance. Now, I was older than she had been when she passed away, and my life finally felt like it was mine to live.
Fun flying seemed like the perfect next step for me. Why not pursue something I had always wanted to do?
So, I decided to get my tailwheel sign-off and took lessons in the Chief’s sister type, the Champ.
This made me feel closer to her project, even though I had never seen it before. Flying the Champ felt like a way to connect with her spirit and dreams.
When I shared the tale of laundry baskets and wings that became an airplane, the restorer became curious about where the airplane had gone. We pored over Dad’s logbook, and the only entry for a Chief seemed like a likely candidate.
After looking through old slides, we confirmed it was indeed the project airplane.
My mom must have been taking the pictures as she was not in them. It felt like a hug to see my grandfather, who I heard about but never met, side by side with something that might still exist. The nostalgia was overwhelming; it’s piecing together parts of my mom’s life I had never known.
The tail number was still tied to an aircraft, though the registration had expired. The restorer made note of the address.
What would it hurt to reach out and ask if it’s still around?
The restorer cautioned the airplane is likely in pieces, but if we are lucky most of the pieces are there. With a mix of hope and trepidation, we reached out.
I got tears in my eyes thinking of the possibility of bringing her airplane home — a tangible piece of my mom’s life before I came along.
This journey of rediscovery has been more than just finding an old airplane; it has been about connecting with my mom’s adventurous spirit and rekindling my own passions.