I seldom see 5 a.m. What sane individual would set the alarm for 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning?

But I found myself up at 5 a.m., I softly knocked on my son’s bedroom door. “Miles, wake up. It’s time.” An hour later, my son and I were off to the races — the balloon races — for the third time this weekend. All of this madness as a result of my name being drawn from the dozens of other co-workers at Natchez Regional who thought the idea of flying in a hot-air balloon would be an awesome experience.

“Third time’s the charm!” I said to Miles as we made our way downtown to the visitor’s center. No wind and no clouds. High winds and angry cold front gusts had grounded all of the balloons Saturday.

When we arrived at the visitor’s center, the pilots were already receiving their briefing under the big white tent. “Darryl can ride with Miles in the balloon,” I said to everyone. Darryl Wilkinson, my friend from the hospital was also crewing for the first time this year. I knew he couldn’t wait to take a flight, but he was not going to let me off of the hook so easily. “You are riding,” he said firmly. “You won the raffle.” Before I could think of a great argument, Miles and I were riding in the back of our pilot’s truck and zooming to the launch site.

We watched the crew unload the big basket and then we got to help as the huge balloon was laid out and filled with air from a fan. “Load up!” yelled Sam Edwards, our pilot. Miles was grinning from ear to ear as he easily loaded his long legs into the basket. I approached the basket tentatively, like a child trying to gauge the best tree limbs to climb. With a little help, I managed to set one leg into the basket. The other leg had ideas of its own and refused to fold and join the other. After a little more help any embarrassment was soon dissolved as I realized that we were actually hovering above the ground and beginning to move!

Wait! Now just hold on a doggone minute! I needed to ask this pilot-guy how many years he had been doing this and if he had ever had any accidents! What about those power lines that looked dangerously close to our balloon? Did he see those? Did he know that they were there?

Before I had time to stress myself further, we were rising above the buildings, cars, roads and trees; and I stopped breathing.

The beauty of our world left me speechless and looking in every direction. Glorious green was everywhere. The clouds were spray painted and highlighted by the rising sun on the horizon and the light blue sky was dotted with colorful balloons close and distant. Our pilot, Sam Edwards, was indeed experienced and talented as we came marvelously close to our two “drop targets.” Before I knew it we were attempting to land at Duncan Park. Our landing was the equivalent of a feather falling into a bowl of Jell-O; and we joyfully watched for our crew to find us as more and more balloons began their own decent around us.

Ballooning is truly experiencing God and His greatest gift — our beautiful Mother Earth.

I think I’ll wake up at 5 a.m. next Sunday and be one of the first to give thanks.

Tammye Dixey is a Natchez resident.