At the last minute the pilot pulled up, barely brushing the tips of the trees. He climbed and made a sharp turn, coming back in my direction, but his altitude was decreasing to the point he was once again just brushing the tops of trees. His plane was lost to my sight behind our big barn.
I ran in that direction to try to keep the plane in sight. As I rounded the barn, the plane's nose came up and it stalled, flopping down on its belly and plowing a furrow in the pasture beyond our barn. It looked something like a whale smacking the water after it jumps. The plane bounced once or twice, and settled amidst the dust and debris. The air was suddenly quiet, such a sharp contrast to the previous din of straining engine and rending metal. The only sounds for the moment were the creaking and pinging of the plane as it shifted and settled into the prairie grasses. I wasn't sure whether to run to the plane, or stay away in case it caught fire. As I stood in indecision, the door opened and the passengers and crew, 12 people in all, came out onto my pasture. They were shook, but unharmed, and wandered toward me in a daze.