While I’m sure there’s a lot going on in the mind of a baby, I can’t claim to remember a single moment from that time in my life. My childhood memories, however, are crystal clear and almost completely revolve around aircraft. If I hadn’t been blessed with bad eyesight, I would have joined the ranks of Maverick, Iceman, Chappy Sinclair and Doug Masters as an ace fighter jet pilot slipping the surly bonds of earth and dancing on laughter-silvered wings. There was literally nothing of greater importance to me than flying. I remember being enveloped by awe when my father told stories from his days travelling the globe as a loadmaster on a C-130 Hercules in the Air Force, going to the Experimental Aircraft Association and to the end of the local airport’s runway to watch planes land and take off. It was through my father that I met his co-worker Mark and his father Ken Corbett. Ken was a pilot for the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources and Lunda Construction. My parents tell me that when I was a baby they loaded my sister and I on a MD80 jetliner to fly from Oshkosh, Wisconsin to Kansas City, Kansas. I was too young to remember it and I don’t consider that my first flight. Since memories are the very core of our existence, my very first flight happened because of Ken Corbett when I was 10 years old in his Cessna 185 Skywagon II. Taxiing down the taxiway at Oshkosh’s Wittman Airport the day of my first flight, sitting in the co-pilot seat, feeling more anticipation than I’d ever felt is a moment I’ll never forget. A lot happened to me as we bounced and jostled toward the runway. I was so overwhelmed that I almost relive that moment more clearly in my thoughts than when I was actually there! I remember Ken’s hands gently gripping the controls. I remember looking up and seeing the sun dancing through the distorted plexiglass and illuminate his beautifully weathered face while he radioed the tower for clearance to take off. I remember the smell of decades of flight that the old Skywagon had been through as Ken pushed the throttle to full and we lunged forward down the runway. I remember the world around me squeaking, jumping, jostling, vibrating, shaking until Ken pulled the wheel back and suddenly that world went smooth and silent as we soared upwards toward heaven. It was such an honor to be able to go to my hometown of Oshkosh, Wisconsin recently to photograph Ken and Mark together with their aircraft. The Cessna 185 on the left is the very plane that took me for my first flight. Mark’s Citabria Champion is on the right.