It was a very small antique plane, and my friend the pilot took me up for my birthday. He grew up in Evening Shade, and we were "buzzing" his childhood home where his brother lived--apparently he'd forgotten about the location of the power lines, and I didn't see them, because I was looking at the ground. Because we hit the power lines, the fuel gauge, located on the nose of the plane broke off, and fuel was pouring in the broken windshield of the cockpit. We climbed and circled for a landing, but then had to cut the engine in case of fire. Thus, "dead-stick", and there were cows, too. Top it all off, the pilot is a paraplegic and I had to get him out of the plane quickly in case of fire, and his wheelchair was back at the airport in Little Rock.

There was no fire, very little damage to the plane, except the broken windshield, and where the live power lines sliced through the prop like it was a stick of butter.

The story is much longer than that, and I'm saving it for my memoirs!

Karen