Look what flew over our house on Sunday morning.
Half a dozen hot-air balloons. One of them ended up landing in the soccer field that’s right next to our house, and of course we went running out to talk to the balloonists while they waited for the “chaser truck” to come get them. And no, contrary to popular belief, we did not get a bottle of champagne when they landed, although the pilot was happy to talk about their trip, and answer our questions, such as why he intentionally brushed the tree next to our house (it helps slow them down). I’m pretty much an expert now.
Close up, they make a lot more noise than I thought, when the pilot opens the propane valve and the hot air/flames chuff and whoosh and heat the air inside the balloon (or envelope, as we experts call it). My dog was a little freaked out by the noise.