The event starts with three large balloons offering rides. You sit in lawn chairs, watching the balloons inflating, the passengers board baskets larger than you imagined were possible, and the balloons drift away with the wind. A local band plays blues rock. The kids jump on bouncies. There is food on sticks. You are experiencing Americana.
Then over the swell of the hill comes balloon after balloon. Individually owned balloons (some sponsored by businesses) with the small baskets you expect. The sky becomes unbearably, romantically painted in floating balloons. You regret not bringing a camera. You curse your iPhone for not having a better zoom. You snap photo after photo trying to capture a feeling that doesn't translate to a phone app.
Oooohhhhhhs, aaaaahhhhhs. Craned necks. Hands covering eyes to block out the sun. Joy.
The balloons begin descending as the sun joins them.
One final balloon straggles through. The stark beauty of one balloon is not lost on you. The crowd cheers! The pilot waves.
Silence. A time to refresh drinks and test out another item served on a stick. A child goes missing. Is found two picnic blankets over playing with another child her age.
The next round of entertainment begins. A special balloon, Peg Leg Pete, is inflated. The kids rush to meet Pete.
After an hour or so, the sun has set. It's time for night glow.
It's like Tangled, that moment in the boat with the lanterns lilting up. Only the balloons don't lift off. I'll be honest. I was disappointed. The balloons were lovely but I imagined floating lanterns. These lanterns were grounded.
Aria and I attended the balloon classic in 2007. She was only 3. My ex-husband had purchased a sunrise balloon ride for the three of us for my birthday. I had just moved to Des Moines. We were mid-divorce. It was an odd present. It felt romantic? But combined with a three-year old in tow? And me SO not a morning person? And him divorcing me and myself grateful for that? A mixed message gift.
We had to arrive at the field by 5:30 a.m. It's over 45 minutes from my home to the field. I brought Aria in her pajamas. We watched the balloons inflating along with the 10 other passengers taking the flight. I lamented not having a coffee.
We took off about 6:30. Balloon rides are surprisingly uneventful. The lift-off is a little bumpy. The floating is simply that - floating. The basket was large enough that it just glides. You look out at the land. You fly an hour or three, depending on your pilot's whims and where you intend to land. Little bump on landing. Hope the cow in the field where you landed in friendly. A road crew in a van comes to get you and bring you back to your car.
For a 30-something, this is beauty (if too early). For a three year-old? Not so much. No toys. Needing to be held the entire time despite being in the 150th percentile in height and weight. Trying to keep her quiet so that the other 10 passengers paying great money didn't need to be bothered. Snide sideways looks whenever she squawks. The fire thingy that makes the balloon lift? Seriously hot and also dangerous for little ones (and mamas with long hair). Not to mention, when you are experiencing something you want to share, you know how you look at the person you are with? You connect? Yeah. I wasn't going to do that with my ex.
It was a stressful, stressful, ride.
There are many moments and experiences that I have had in life that I wish I could had a do-over. This would be one of them. I would love to experience the beauty of a balloon ride without all the accompanying feelings mine had.
Some day. Maybe. It's not high on my list.
In the meantime, watching the balloons from the comfort of a lawn chair was a perfect way to spend a Friday evening. And Aria, now age 10, agreed.
Paul Simon - Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard
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