It is never more obvious than from 35000 feet that the center of the US is agricultural land. Miles after mile of grid laid out in one mile squares. Some fields encompass the entire square, others are subdivided into multiple crops. Lines of trees snaking along mark small water courses while ponds and lakes intrude with their irregular shore lines. Homes are scattered, each anchoring its own land so different than Europe with clustered homes in a village surrounded by fields.
As we worked our way west, flat gave way to contour, the grid vanished and pasture land seemed to be the order of the day. The haze, although still present has shaded markedly toward white as we traveled away from the overhanging pollution of the DC Metro area.
From there, with the exception of the occasional mountain range capable of piercing the clouds, I saw nothing below us till the last few minutes of the flight. Since I know well the approach to SFO, I don’t find it very comforting to be descending through soap suds clouds, breaking through right over a couple of small boats and less than 100 meters from the end of the runway.
BART to North Berkeley, and home.