Camille Harvey, Jane Beauclair and Roxane Salonen are seen in a hot-air balloon Aug. 31, 2024, Custer, South Dakota.
My mom takes things literally, like laboring on Labor Day (my birthday), and, more recently, naming riding in a bucket as her top bucket-list item.
It was more like a basket, I guess, attached to a hot-air balloon, but my sister Camille, taking the figurative bull by the horns, arranged a ride in the beautiful Black Hills for the three of us, allowing Mom to prove that even at 83, she isn’t just full of hot air.
On Aug. 30, we set out from two locations, meeting at the Assumption Abbey in Richardton, North Dakota, in time for midday prayer, which we recited from pews on the altar with the monks after being ushered there by Brother Louis.
A delicious, homemade lunch in their “million-dollar dining room” with its expansive view of the prairie followed. Afterward, Father James led us to the gift shop to peruse the handmade treasures—scented candles, soaps and wood carvings from Madagascar and Bethlehem.
From there, we chose the long route, ambling slowly along the Enchanted Highway to admire the giant metal sculptures and the tenacious vision of the artist behind them.
We were blessed, too, by spotting a male antelope standing stunningly against freshly harvested, golden wheat fields—the first of many wildlife moments we’d witness in coming days.
Night had fallen by the time we arrived in Custer. We rose before sunrise to join the crew and other passengers, marveling at the perfect weather and the crew’s expertise in unrolling and filling the giant balloons, first with cold air, then hot gas, readying them for our ride.
The experience was glorious. As we rose higher and higher, we gazed down at sun-speckled Ponderosas and across the horizon as far as our eyes could see, welcoming the waking, yawning sun spreading its spark to the ends of the earth.
Up there in the calm, peaceful air there were no politics, harsh words or conflict.
One moment stands out: an elk appearing majestically in the forest below. I traced his movements as if peering down from heaven as he leapt away, disappearing into the trees. Wild turkeys and white-tailed deer were among the other creatures we gazed upon from 1,000 feet up. Wild burros, turkeys, bison, mule deer and prairie dogs would join the repertoire of animals we’d witness in their natural habitat by day’s end.
After landing in a rock quarry, we celebrated with the crew, who recited the Balloonist’s Prayer and offered a toast with morning mimosas and snacks.
That evening, at a vigil Mass, we joined in singing “The Canticle of the Sun:” “The heavens are telling the glory of God, and all creation is shouting for joy. Come dance in the forest, come play in the fields. And sing, sing to the glory of the Lord!”
This glorious, memorable day, a pinnacle of my summer, offered a peek into God’s perspective as he peers upon us all, whispering gently from on high that, despite our earthly travails, “All shall be well.”
[For the sake of having a repository for my newspaper columns and articles, I reprint them here, with permission, a week after their run date. The preceding ran in The Forum newspaper on Sept. 15, 2024.]
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