Spray Stearman

I flagged in the orchards for Bill (I always worried, too, that he’d crash, and I would be the solemn soul around at almost “zero-dark-thirty” who would have to pull him out of the wreckage — thank God that never happened), and I also helped him mix the smelly chemical solutions to pour in the Stearman — I always WONDERED what kind of horrible long-term damage, that mere exposure to that stuff did to a human body — the ground beside the hangar was SOAKED in it where it was mixed, and you could smell that awful stuff from nearly a hundred yards away. That particular Stearman was probably one of the WW2-Surplus ones my dad bought in a lot and converted into sprayer/crop dusters.