NATCHEZ &045; I didn’t sleep very well Thursday night.

I wasn’t nervous about going up in a hot air balloon for the first time the next morning.

What I was nervous about was sleeping through my 5:45 a.m. alarm and blowing my assignment. After all, the Sedlak family had been kind enough to invite me, the least I could do was show up.

And I did.

Getting a balloon up in the air is a lot of work, but Randy and Carla Sedlak are skilled organizers. Their four daughters, Anna, Carrie, Rebecca and Charlotte, knew the drill and before long, our basket awaited.

Ballooning is a team sport. Randy would pilot Marcie McDowell, the newest addition to The Democrat staff, and me, the second newest addition to The Democrat staff.

Carla, the kids, and my fellow Democrat staffers Julie Finley and Christian Schmidt would follow in the chase car &045; all balloon flights are one-way.

Up we went.

Pilot Randy was controlling the controls, Marcie was photographing like crazy and I was left to ponder the silence.

It was all that quiet that took some getting used to.

I’ve been conditioned to expect &045; when I’m 500 feet in the air &045; some racket. Whether it’s the sing-as-loud-as-you-like howl of a prop plane or the steady drone of a jet, I equate noise with safety.

After all, my leaving the ground violates the laws of physics and I’ve grown to depend on aural reassurance that something strong &045; and impossibly complicated &045; is abetting my crime.

Ballooning is so simple: big balloon, hot air, up you go.

I got over it, though. If you’re going six miles per hour and you can control your altitude, who cares if you can’t steer the thing?

My amusement at the whooooooosh! of the propane-fuelled burner turned quickly to fondness.

After all, what’s cooler than watching a 10-foot tall wall of fire &045; producing 15 million British thermal units of heat &045; shoot directly into a balloon?

It was a bit disconcerting

that the balloon in question &045; Heaven Bound &045; happened to be the one holding me aloft, but I had faith in Randy, that he didn’t mean heaven bound, today.

Where he meant to go this morning was an &8221;X&8220; somewhere near the airport in Vidalia.

We saw the airport, but never could agree on whether the marking we saw was an &8221;X&8220; or not. Maybe Marcie got a picture.

The question was moot: the wind had shifted and we weren’t going to get anywhere near the airport.

We did a touch and go landing, for practice, and then hit the skies again. Marcie had an eye for power lines &045; which I appreciated &045; and I watched cows watch us.

Good thing Randy was watching the river creep into view; we landed for real, I hiked to the

road to try to flag down Carla and crew and James Biglane saw our landing &045; on his land &045; and

made sure everybody got where they were supposed to go.

In all, we’d been in the air for around 30 minutes and covered just a couple of miles. I’ll admit to a bit of queasiness once we landed, but it’s nothing that would keep me from another chance to see a 10-foot plume of fire at 500 feet.