Home again.

I arrived back on my island home from Mount Vernon on Monday – more about that in a minute.  I loved being at Mount Vernon, and I have some great ideas of lesson plans I want to do with my kids this year.  I don’t think we spend enough time (I know I never have!) teaching kids about real heroes like Washington.  Instead, they hear about men who are considered heroes because they make millions of dollars playing a game…

Here’s one last picture from Mount Vernon.

Ok – so now I want to tell you about my trip home.  I flew (a six am flight – Sam, my son, you are a hero for getting me to the airport at 4:15!!!)

The flight from Dulles to Miami was uneventful, and since I only had a two-hour layover in Miami, the day was going quite well.  I got on the plane in Miami for St. Croix.  I had a window seat, and a very nice young man named Dutch sat next to me.  We chatted a bit.  He was surprised to find out that they no longer give peanuts on the flight.  Then I read my book and he dozed.  The flight was due to arrive in St. Croix at 1:30, so it was a surprise when the co-pilot came on at a bit before 1:00 and told us that Puerto Rico was the island we could see off on the right (my side of the plane.  It was in the distance, a large island with high hills.) and that we were getting ready to land.  Now, I’ve done this flight several times, and I know that Puerto Rico is 90 miles east and a bit north from my house – we can see the mountains on the horizon an very clear days! – I also know that usually we fly right over Puerto Rico on our way to St. Croix, but I couldn’t figure out how we were so early since we got off the ground a bit late. The seat belt sign came on then the flight attendant told us to put our seat backs up and tray tables stowed.   I put my book down and was enjoying the view as the plane started to descend.  I mean DESCEND.  We were diving.  Soon, an island appeared beneath us.  I watched, thinking two things.  First, that we were still really high to be landing on that island, and two, that island was NOT St. Croix.  I could see highways and overpasses.  St Croix has a divided highway, but no overpasses.  As I’m watching, the plane is still in a serious downward trajectory.  Then we turn right, wing down as if we are lining up to the runway.  By now, Dutch, beside me, has begun looking out the window.  He says.  “That ain’t St. Croix.”

I agreed and just as we came to consensus that the pilot was landing us in San Juan, the plane banked left and smoothed out.  We were no longer diving.  Then, the seat belt sign went off.  We flew clear of the island and were back over water, heading east and a little south.   Fifteen minutes later the sign dinged back on and we descended again, more gently this time.  I was relieved when I recognized sandy point as we flew over it.

I’m wondering what it was like in the cock pit.  Did the pilot take a little nap, wake up and see the Puerto Rico beneath him and freak out a little? Did he really think that the island of  Hispaniola off in the distance  (where Haiti and the Dominican Republic are) was Puerto Rico?  Did he forget where he was supposed to go?  When did he or the co-pilot realize they were heading for the wrong airport?  I can imagine the radio coming to life.  “Uh, American flight 1293, this is the tower at San Juan.  Are you  having mechanical problems?  Aren’t you headed for STX?” The real question was best voiced by my seat mate, Dutch. “If they’d have landed us in San Juan, do you think they’d have given us some peanuts?”  🙂

Yikes!  I was glad to be home on MY island!