Iowa in the 1960’s offered a life that was simpler and had a less complicated pace. The local airport was small and completely surrounded by towering fields of corn. One of our favorite Friday night rituals was for the entire family to trundle into the old Cadillac and drive to the airport and watch the planes arrive. My mother would pack a picnic supper to eat as we expectantly waited for the two evening planes to land from faraway places. One after the other they gloriously zoomed overhead. It sounds silly now but those were exciting times, and as the small propeller airplanes took off I sniffed my first hint of wanderlust. Who were these people cavorting off through the sky to distant lands? What could they possibly be up to? Continue reading “Come fly away come fly me to DC”
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