In the quiet hills of western Pennsylvania, just past the whispering trees and beside a field full of dandelions, lives our buddy, B.B. the baby Bigfoot.

Now, B.B. may be small for a Bigfoot, but he’s got a heart bigger than a barn and curiosity that could fill the sky. And today… that’s exactly what he wants to do—fill the sky. Because B.B. wants to learn to fly.

Early one morning, before the sun had burned the mist off the grass, B.B. peeked out from behind a pine tree and watched something amazing. A little airplane, shiny and red, zipped across the sky above Clarion County Airport. It looped and turned, dipping toward the hills and rising again like a bird in a dream.

B.B.’s big, brown eyes widened.
He pointed up with his furry finger.
That’s it, he thought.
That’s what he wanted.

Later that day, while no one was around, B.B. tiptoed—well, tip-thudded—onto the edge of the airstrip.
He looked left.
He looked right.
No one in sight.

There, sitting all alone in the sunlight, was a small Cessna airplane, just the perfect size for a small Bigfoot. B.B. climbed in, his big feet barely fitting in the tiny cockpit.
He pressed buttons.
He moved levers.
He turned the wheel.

And then—
CLICK!

He accidentally hit the ignition.
VRRRRRRROOOM!

The little plane roared to life. B.B. froze. His wild hair blew straight back. He clutched the yoke like a teddy bear. And just like that… the plane started to move.

The trainer crept forward slowly, like it wasn’t sure either.
B.B. bounced in the seat.
The plane rolled faster—
Then faster—
Then… it was OFF THE GROUND!

He was flying. Sort of.

The plane wobbled. It bobbed. It zigged and zagged across the sky like a nervous bumblebee. Inside, B.B. gripped the controls and made a face that could only mean: “Whoa Nelly!”

He buzzed past the water tower. He startled three geese. He accidentally waved to a couple eating breakfast at Deb’s Diner.

Down on the runway, a real flight instructor named Bill looked up from his clipboard. He squinted at the sky. “Is that… a small plane being flown by… Bigfoot?”

Bill didn’t even blink. He just walked to the radio tower. “Echo Bravo Bravo,” he called, “you’re flying a little… wild today.”

No response.

“Hmm,” Bill said. “Better go help ‘em out.”

Up in the clouds, B.B. was starting to get the hang of it. Kind of. He smiled a big toothy grin and flapped his arms like wings.

Which unfortunately meant he let go of the controls for a moment— and the plane dipped! He yanked back, and the plane leveled out… barely. He wasn’t scared, though. Just determined. He wanted to fly.

Back on the ground, Bill hopped into another small plane and took off smoothly. He pulled up beside B.B.’s wobbling aircraft and gave a friendly wave. B.B. looked over, surprised but happy. Bill pointed down toward the runway and made a circling motion with his hand. B.B. nodded.

Together, they glided down in slow, gentle loops, like leaves falling from a tree. Bill landed first. B.B. followed… a little bumpy, a little crooked, but— Touchdown.

The plane rolled to a stop. B.B. looked around. Then he raised his arms in victory. HE DID IT!

Bill walked up to the plane, not scared, just curious. He opened the cockpit, and B.B. gave him a thumbs-up. Bill chuckled.

“Well,” he said, “you’ve got guts, kid. And I’ll be honest… not the worst first flight I’ve ever seen.” B.B. gave a shy smile and scratched his head. Bill grinned. “How ‘bout some real lessons next time?” B.B. nodded so hard his ears flopped.

And from that day on, if you were ever near the Clarion County Airport at sunrise, you might just catch a glimpse of something hairy in a headset, taxiing down the runway with a grin on his face.

Because adventures are for the brave… And the sky? Well, the sky belongs to everyone—Even a baby Bigfoot named B.B.