Interviewing people is among the highlights of my work. I enjoy hearing stories, learning new things, meeting new people – it suits my naturally inquisitive nature. I feel lucky to share these stories with the OhioAuthority audience. Transcribing those interviews is another matter.
While journalists will debate the pros and cons of the job, most will agree that transcription work is tedious. Carefully documenting countless hours of interviews, insuring the accuracy of quoted material is critical to producing honest and insightful features, but it takes time. A lot of time.
Faced with more than five hours of interview tape, an office phone that never stops ringing and an email inbox that is constantly bombarded, I took my work outside. As most working men and women made their way home after a long day, I made my way outdoors. After spending all day before a computer, it was nice to let a bit of analog into my life. I was determined to get through a large a portion of the transcription work before fixing a late dinner.
My location in North Collinwood is in walking distance to not only Villa Angela and Wildwood parks, but also the East Shore Park Club, a private neighborhood park with amazing lake vistas. The latter, with its relative quiet and scenic backdrop would help make the transcription process less monotonous.
I was cruising through the transcription, the sun beaming, the lake in view, hedgehogs darting around, when a man arrived with a fan on a trailer. He quickly unloaded the enormous fan mounted to a two-stroke engine, and let it rip. It was loud. If you've ever been to the Everglades, and know the cacophony of an air boat, you'd recognize this sound. It shattered my concentration, but my curiosity was piqued. When the man unfurled a large parachute on the grounds, I was fascinate.
Soon, another man arrived with a similar set-up. He helped the first man strap the sizable fan to his back, like James Bond on his way to grade school, and set the direction of his parachute. With that, he fired the engine, the propeller quickly and loudly spinning, the fan secured to his back, seated on the equivalent of a child's folding chair and managing the now airborn chute with a series of cords. With a few brisk paces, he launched himself of the shore's cliff. I was at once ready to cheer, and at once fearful that I was about to witness a scene that would later air on one of those "when terrible things happen" programs. He quickly vanished from my sight and out of earshot, flying over the lake. His high-flying buddy was quick to follow suit.
I had intended on staying for a couple hours, and lathered my pasty Irish skin in the requisite sunscreen for that time period. It was wearing off, my arms slowly roasting to a fiery red, but I was too interested in the weirdness unfolding before me to depart. With the flyers gone, I resumed my transcription, now committed to wait for their return. I'd seen the take-off, but how were they going to land? Approximately 45 minutes later, both men returned, the first flying by my picnic table-cum-desk, saluting with a thumbs up.
Safely grounded, the men began packing up, and I made introductions, thanking them for the free air show. I met Mike, the first flyer. I learned he'd been paraflying for more than six years, and he's flown as high as 4,000 feet. I learned you don't need a license to parafly. Most interesting, Mike is one of my new neighbors. He's lived in the neighborhood for nearly a decade, and the East Shore Park Club doubles as his airstrip. He's the first neighbor I've actually met. Although I asked Mike a litany of questions, it wasn't an interview. It was a conversation. No transcribing or special skills needed.
