On the mornings after the rains came, 7-year old Carroll Werren would race outside his Maine farmhouse and scan the horizon. Standing in the field, he could hear the roar of a biplane coming. It was 1963.
Flying low over the trees, the crop duster would swoop overhead, spraying the nearby orchards. Werren could see the pilot in the bumblebee-colored, brilliant cockpit. He would wave his little arms and the pilot would wave the wings of the plane in
Forty-four years later, Werren recalls the memories and his dreams to fly – as he himself waves to people below. From the perch on his powered parachute, Werren says that whenever he goes up, it feels like the first time. Floating, weightless. This is what a bird must feel like. Houses look like miniatures from a train set, the Merrimack River casts a deep blue, and the dome of the State House reflects the setting sun.
A retired Concord firefighter, Werren flies over the station, circling overhead and waving to former co-workers below. Everyone who sees him in the sky waves back. There is a great joy in the sharing of that connection. Just think of something you have always wanted to do, Werren says, and then you get to do it. That’s what this feels like.
If you want something in life, he says, you reach out. And it is there.