Every time I fly across even half the continent, I wonder at how easy it is. OK, airplane travel isn’t exactly pleasant but compared to walking next to a covered wagon or even sitting on the wooden seat on a train going an amazing (for the time) 40 miles per hour it still seems a wonder.
The trip we made home on February 5 was strange because of the weather. Flying out of the Twin Cities the lakes were frozen, you could see the dark blue lakes, uncovered, no snow, the fractured ice reflecting the blue sky. As we flew further over Western Minnesota the portion of the 10,000 lakes we saw looked more 10,000 potholes.
Further west the badlands of the Dakotas were bare of both snow and vegetation, a fractured tapestry of land, not ice. Only as we got over Montana was there a touch of snow to accentuate the texture. Below, river oxbows reflected the mottled sky of clouds and blue. Am I overwriting this?
Once we hit the Great Divide the clouds finally covered the ground as we approached Seattle just before sunset.
I love those Minnesota winters when ice covered lake are free of snow and you can ice skate over thunderous cracking.