“I'll Fly Away” by John Trask

I was born in Fort Fairfield, Maine, and some of my earliest memories go back to when my family moved to Easton. I was just a first grader then, and I found myself in a one-room schoolhouse. All eight grades were taught in that one space, and by the time I was in seventh and eighth grade, I was the only student in my class. It was a unique experience, but I didn’t know any different—it was just life in rural Maine.

Later on, I transferred to Easton High School and quickly realized I was behind the other students academically. But with time and effort, I caught up. The transition from a one-room school to a larger system wasn’t easy, but it taught me persistence early on. More than anything, though, I remember how small and close our world was back then. You knew everyone, and you didn’t need much to be content.

High school was where I met the love of my life—Nina. She and I saw each other every day, and our bond only grew stronger. After I went on to attend college in Presque Isle for two years, we stayed in touch and eventually started courting seriously. Shortly after college, I was drafted into the military. I didn’t want to go into the Army, so I delayed just long enough to enlist in the Air Force instead.

The military became a major part of my life—and Nina’s, too. We were in it together. Over the course of 20 years, we moved frequently: Bangor, Puerto Rico, Louisiana, Indiana, California. We were constantly packing up our lives, and our kids were along for the ride. It wasn’t always easy, especially on our son who didn’t like leaving his friends behind. But I believe those experiences helped shape them—gave them perspective, resilience, and a broader view of the world.

Initially, I served in the enlisted ranks. But after several years, I realized there was a significant difference in pay and opportunity between enlisted and officer roles. I applied for officer school and was accepted. After that, I entered flight training and officially became a pilot. That opened doors for me—and also helped provide better for our family.

One of the hardest moments of my life came before I entered the service. My older brother, who had been a mentor and steady presence during my younger years, was killed in a tractor accident. He was working on the farm, plowing, when the tractor overturned on a ledge. I was 18 years old. It hit me hard—his death marked the end of my childhood in many ways. That grief stayed with me for a long time. In that season, faith wasn’t just a tradition—it was a lifeline.

I’d grown up attending church in Fort Fairfield, and when Nina and I started dating, I joined her at the Methodist church in Easton. Later, during my years in the service, we were always connected with chaplains on base, and that continuity of worship—no matter where we were stationed—kept our faith grounded. I leaned on those quiet times of prayer and worship to carry me through loss, uncertainty, and the stresses of military life. It’s not always about having the answers—it’s about knowing Who holds you.

I’ve always loved the hymn “I’ll Fly Away.” Nina and I both love that song. It reminds me that life here is temporary, and something better awaits us. It’s a hymn that carries the weariness of life but lifts the heart with anticipation.

I’m incredibly proud of the career I built in aviation. After retiring from the Air Force, I continued flying commercially—from Presque Isle to Boston—and later opened a flight training school. I trained many aspiring pilots and later worked as an FAA flight examiner for nearly four decades. Folks came from all over—from as far as Germany and Puerto Rico—for their certifications. It was an honor to help others achieve their dreams.

I also found deep friendships in the Civil Air Patrol. After settling back in Maine, I became active in the organization and built strong connections. We met weekly at the base, shared stories, trained, and supported one another. Some of those friendships have lasted a lifetime. Even now, at 94, I still meet friends every Sunday afternoon at McDonald's. We wear our service hats, share old memories, and enjoy the gift of community.

This year marks 73 years of marriage to Nina. That’s a number I still find hard to believe. The key to our long marriage? Respect. That’s what I always tell people. Respect each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Be kind. Be patient. Life throws changes at you, and not everything goes your way. But we made it work because we chose to stick together. Nina brought me up right, she’ll joke, but truthfully, we grew together. Through the service, through parenting, through seasons of loss and joy—we stayed side by side.

My greatest hope for my children and grandchildren is that they have enough—not just financially, but emotionally and spiritually. I want them to have meaningful work, supportive partners, and peace in their homes. Life isn’t easy, and you can’t control everything, but I hope they’ll face each challenge with a positive attitude. That’s what I’d tell them: stay kind, don’t carry anger, and help others when they need it.

One important message for my family? It would be this: Be patient with people. You never know what someone is going through. If someone’s short with you or seems off, maybe it’s just a hard day. Give grace. Be kind. Love one another.

And the most important life lesson I’ve learned? Patience. With others, with yourself, and with life. Things don’t always go as planned. People disappoint you. Circumstances change. But if you’re patient, you can move through life with grace. Don’t carry bitterness. Let things go.

If I could be remembered for one thing, I hope it would be my contribution to aviation—not just the hours in the sky, but the lives I touched as a trainer, mentor, and examiner. Presque Isle honored me by placing my flight gear in their museum, and that’s something I cherish. But more than that, I hope people remember me as someone who served faithfully, who loved his family, respected others, and lived with integrity.

At 94, I’ve seen a lot—wars and peace, sorrow and joy, love and loss. And through it all, God has been good. I’m grateful for every mile, every morning, every memory. It’s been a good flight.