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The shiny red-and-white Cessna Cardinal caught my eye with her sleek frame, strutless wings, and wide doors. She whispered that she was the total package for barnstorming across America with my beautiful wife, Heidi, and our new chocolate Labrador. Surely the Cardinal wouldn’t hold it against us that our precious puppy was named Piper—after all, she resembled the bear cub on the tail of a J-3 Cub.
The Cessna Cardinal 177B was the perfect airplane for the Axum Family to barnstorm across America.
“Steer clear of that bird,” my buddies warned after I showed them the advertisement. The airplane had suffered a botched landing that bounced her off the runway and into a ditch, bending the firewall and wrinkling the fuselage. “It’s got damage history,” they said.
Who doesn’t? I thought. The way I saw it, that bird had sacrificed her body to protect her passengers. An enthusiastic mechanic had seen what the insurance company couldn’t and resurrected her from the dead. He mended her broken wings, and like that visionary, I believed in second chances.
I asked a CFII—who was also an A&P mechanic—to join me for the pre-purchase inspection. When he agreed, I bought one-way tickets to Idaho so we could meet the Cardinal in person that December. Snowflakes tapped the sloped windshield as I slid into the spacious cockpit and took a deep breath. The familiar musty smell of sunbaked plastic, oil, and avgas enveloped me. Though it was my first time inside a Cardinal, nestled into the left seat, I felt at home. I flipped switches, pushed knobs, and her Lycoming O-360 heart began to beat.
“She’s the one,” I said, handing the mechanic a certified check.
Wasting no more daylight, we sprinted down the runway and leapt into the frigid air for our journey back toward Seattle. As we crossed the Pacific Northwest, the setting sun cast a pink glow behind Mount Rainier, highlighting the majestic snow-capped peak pointing toward the heavens. A sense of gratitude and freedom washed over me as the Cardinal showed me why so many aviators dream of becoming aircraft owners.
Of all the great aspects of ownership, my favorite was sharing the awe of flight with others. In short order, we welcomed aboard 33 passengers, completed countless $100 hamburger runs, toured the Grand Canyon, helped my childhood friend overcome her lifelong fear of flying, and even answered this plea: “Small Terrier pup needs ride from shelter to rescue ASAP!”
From west to east coast, Tucker Axum flies over Naval Air Station Jacksonville en rte Sun ‘N Fun 2018.
That call was Carson’s last chance at life, so we volunteered for Pilots N Paws to save the eight-pound pup. He was scared but grateful as our winged chariot battled California wildfires and navigated TFRs through Los Angeles’ bustling airspace. The Cardinal seemed to raise her head and puff out her chest when ATC referred to us as a “compassion flight.” After landing, the little guy wagged his tail and grinned as he strutted across the tarmac toward a waiting pile of treats. We had delivered Carson to his furever home just in time for Christmas—and it wasn’t lost on me that a second-chance Cardinal had paid it forward by giving a second chance to a Terrier.
After five adventurous years, two international moves courtesy of Uncle Sam, and multiple coast-to-coast flights, I felt something unusual stirring inside me. When I told Heidi I thought we should sell the Cardinal, she looked stunned.
“She’s the family plane,” she said, tears forming in her green eyes. “She’s been so good to us.”
Our chocolate lab, Piper, loves hanging out at airports and is often my co-pilot.
“I know,” I replied, unable to fully explain it myself.
I debated for days. Was I making a terrible mistake? But when I realized I couldn’t ignore fate—or the Cardinal’s destiny—any longer, I placed the ad. Ten prospective buyers called almost immediately, but it was the call from the North Pole that I didn’t know I’d been waiting for.
The caller was Mark Lattime, a bishop for the Episcopal Diocese of Alaska—and a pilot. His ministry covered the vast and remote 49th state.
“It’s summertime,” Bishop Mark explained, “which means almost twenty-four hours of daylight. If I had an airplane, I could fly to the villages. I could pray with those in need and bring communion.” After a pause, he added, “I think this Cardinal could be a real blessing to a lot of folks.”
I loved the idea of the Cardinal continuing her life of service. Like I once had, the bishop purchased a one-way ticket and arrived in Palm Springs, California, to inspect his new steed. We flew over celebrity mansions, date farms, and the Salton Sea. He fell in love with her the same way everyone else had.
She was his now.
I handed over the keys, and we posed for a photo to capture the bittersweet moment. I wished the bishop a safe voyage and watched the red-and-white Cardinal depart into the cloudless blue sky, slowly disappearing into the desert horizon. I waved goodbye to the old gal who had been such a faithful member of the Axum family. Now it was time for her to join another.
The Cardinal getting her new assignment to spread hope throughout Alaska under the guidance of Bishop Mark (Aug 2018).
I smiled at the thought: if a bishop were a pilot, what would he fly? A Cardinal, of course.
During the pandemic, I experienced a bout of seller’s remorse. One afternoon, as I moped around the house wishing I were aloft with the Cardinal, my phone buzzed with a surprise text. Photos filled the screen, along with words that lifted my spirits.
“Happy Easter, Tucker and Heidi! I thought you might like to know your dear Cardinal was a BIG part of celebrating Easter in the village of Minto. She’s a sweetheart.”
Heidi and I hugged each other, grateful I had ignored the naysayers years earlier. While they meant well, I couldn’t be more thankful that I had listened to my heart and welcomed the Cardinal into our family. She changed my life—and she continues to impact others through the Episcopal Wings Ministry. She represents compassion, hope, and second chances as she spreads her wings over the Last Frontier.
Tucker takes St. Augustine’s declaration to heart: "The world is a book and those who do not travel read only a page." Tucker has explored more than 75 countries on all seven continents. He discovered his love of flying in high school when his friend introduced him to Microsoft's Flight Simulator. After completing ground school with the Naval Sea Cadet Corps at Belle Chasse Naval Air Station in New Orleans, Tucker earned his pilot's license on America's Independence Day in 2001. A lifelong learner, he broadened his flying experience by getting his instrument rating; tailwheel and high-performance endorsements; multi-engine, seaplane and drone license. In December of 2013, he purchased a Cessna Cardinal and joyfully flew it around the country for five years. He sold it to a missionary in Alaska and is now on the hunt for his next plane. For more information, please visit www.tuckeraxum.com.
- A Higher Purpose: The Soul of a Cardinal - February 11, 2026
Neat story and happy next chapter for your Cardinal.
Great story, Tucker…I really enjoyed it!
As one of the Cardinal’s passengers I must agree that she was truly a member of the family and loved as such.
Cardinal’s are wonderful planes. Such great views and spacious. My son, however, has made it rather clear we will not be selling ours.