Couldn't get past this week without a special post on one of the all-time greatest fall events, the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta, now in its 32nd year, I think. Now, the Balloon Fiesta has it's own park, with grass, which seems completely unbelievable to this New Mexican. (We didn't even have grass on the school playgrounds! We barely had grass in our yard, but I digress...) I think I remember going to the earliest balloon fiestas in the parking lot of the mall, but maybe I only remember that because I read it. My mom would know, and certainly, that would have been something that she would have taken us to.At any rate, I KNOW I've been counting balloons since I have known how to count. For a full week in October, on each clear and crisp New Mexico morning, as the sun peaks over the mountains, one by one, those colorful globes fill the sky. FILL the sky. They drift, almost silently, to the west and to the south, or wherever the currents take them.
Going to the balloon fiesta means waking up early, before the break of dawn, and dressing in lots of layers, and walking a far way from the parking lot, sometimes over and through arroyos. It means hearing the hum of big fans and the whoosh of gas blowing up. ("blowing up" as in upward into the balloon, NOT "blowing up" as in BOOM!) It means Indian fry bread, and trading pins, and chasing ballons through town.
I grew up across the street from one of the first balloonists to cross the Atlantic Ocean. I was in his kitchen, playing with his daughter, when we were hearing news that they had made it to France. I once watched a balloon attempt to cross the Sandia mountains, and not make it. It went down in an ominous flame, a terrible free-falling plunge, seemingly just over the hill, but really, so much farther than we could possibly get to for help. T & I were married on a fall morning during the balloon fiesta, and I counted balloons on the way to church. I remember a lot about balloons. At any Albuquerque event, it seems there is always a balloon.
And yet, I've never actually ridden in a balloon, well, except for just a few feet off the ground, in one that was firmly tethered to earth. But, I suppose (now, look at the picture really close... see the snout? the pig ears? heehee!) that if pigs fly, someday I might, too...
2 comments:
Oh, my, you are writing about one of my favorite events in the world! The first one was in 1972 in the parking lot, just as you remembered, but I can't remember if we went to that one, since it was the year before we moved there. But after that, we hardly ever missed doing something with it, from going to that early primitive site to chasing them! I had such a good time chasing after them with you and Kim! And, oh, the stories about Ben and Maxie and their "Lindbergh" balloon flight! You should also tell about riding to NY on a plane with Max! I am always so sad to hear of an accident there, as was the case this year already, because otherwise, it's truly one of the most joyous events ever! Cheers!
XOXOX, Mom
You will get to fly in a balloon yet! I have and it's memory is still with me. The quiet is memorable as you sail along. The champagne at the end is fun too although I would prefer to drink mine rather than have it poured over me. Still it was great fun and I would do it again in a moment.
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