It was June and July during my 6th and 7th grade years. My classmate Kuandyk’s father, the chief agronomist, worked in the cotton fields surrounding our village. Back then, AN-2 crop-duster planes flew low over these fields, spraying chemicals to control weeds.

Their route often passed directly over my house, just brushing the tops of trees. I could clearly see the undersides of the planes and hear the roar of their engines. One day, Kuandyk announced that his father had arranged for us to ride in one of those planes. Excited, Kuandyk, our friend Ergazy, and I pedaled our bikes to the aerodrome in Dmitrievka.

When we arrived, the pilots informed us that only one of us could fly at a time because the plane was already loaded with a barrel of chemicals. Kuandyk went first. Upon his return, he didn’t say much but looked thrilled. Then it was my turn. Ergazy and I had drawn lots, and luck was on my side.

I climbed aboard the plane and was greeted by a large white barrel of liquid chemicals. At the pilots' suggestion, I stood near the cabin doorway, holding onto the handrails. The view was panoramic. The propeller roared to life, the plane sped forward, and soon we were in the air.

From above, I saw my house, the streets of our village, and familiar landmarks like the hospital and Soviet Street. The sight was breathtaking. Soon, we reached the cotton fields, where another AN-2 was sowing below us. The pilot maneuvered the plane skillfully, descending to spray the fields and then sharply ascending again. The thrill was electrifying, like riding a roller coaster but far more exhilarating.

After completing the flight, we returned to the aerodrome. A sudden strong wind picked up as we approached, making the landing challenging. Thanks to the pilots’ expertise, we landed safely. Unfortunately, the wind prevented Ergazy from taking his turn, as it was deemed too dangerous.

We rode home quietly, avoiding the topic to spare Ergazy’s feelings. We didn’t discuss our flights much afterward out of respect for our friend.

Reflections
This story, now 40 years old, remains vivid in my memory. My classmates and I have since gone our separate ways, but we stay in touch and meet whenever possible.

I’m grateful to the pilots who gave me this unforgettable experience and to Kuandyk’s father, Uncle Bekturgan, who made it happen.

The lesson here is simple: adventure can be found anywhere, even in the most ordinary places. For me, it was seeing my village of Abai from above, feeling the rush of flight, and cherishing the bonds of friendship.