I have been accused of being grumpy, but all I will admit to is being pragmatic. I know that any house or garden work planned for a coming weekend will likely cost twice as much, take twice as long, and be half the fun as I envision at the outset. And oh yes... the weather will be only half as good too.

Friday night felt different though. The Chemung Valley was gloomy, with a steady rain and clumps of cloud lurking between the hilltops. I knew that I would be flying into better weather though, and the brand- new 8 PM forecast promised that Saturday would be much better than earlier thought. I felt a warm glow of optimism lighten my soul.

I flew out of the rain just as I passed over my house. I always feel lucky to look down at home for a few minutes while I am at work, and I pumped the throttle a few times just to say hello. I was directly above my favorite place on earth, and the weather was looking good. I couldn't restrain a bit of exuberance.

Last weekend was the one that we have waited for all winter. Saturday was quite pleasant, and Sunday was splendid. All the summertime song birds sang to me at different times, amidst fragrant spring breezes, as I worked through the honey- do list. It was important to get enough done on Saturday so that I could make a credible promise to complete the rest of the things on Sunday... after going flyin'.

Sunday morning was bright and calm, and just too good a day to make a short hop to one of the usual places. Sodus was hosting a breakfast, I had never been there, and there was someone there I wanted to meet. There was no indecision, and no guilt. I didn't shuffle around and think how I should do one thing but would rather do another. I was out of bed at five thirty and in the air an hour later, heading due north.

I climbed from the hilltop airport for just a minute or two and then leveled off and throttled back to my favorite putt- putt speed. With the sun still low, the air was smooth, but a bit of haze cut the visibility to a still- generous twenty miles. I watched as the Appalachian foothills of Schuyler County flattened into the broad sweet fields of the Lakes Plain north of Dundee, and then watched again as the terrain became rippled with drumlins north of the Thruway.

I thought of how I was crossing the famous "sea- level route", a key to New York State's early wealth. The course of the Hudson and Mohawk rivers is the only breach in the eastern mountains that run from the Carolinas to Maine, and many early settlers chose this route to the west. Later the canal, the railroads, and the Thruway followed in succession.

It is interesting to view these three arteries as they course across the state. The canal wiggles around, meandering to and fro, always seeking the easiest dig, the flattest grade, and the most plentiful water. The railroads are all business, making long straight runs that are broken by an occasional dogleg. The Thruway meanders as a matter more of style than necessity; the sweeping curves look prettier, and the variety helps drivers stay alert.

At the far end of the trip was apple country, and many of the trees were in blossom. Acres and acres, field upon field stretched across the flat ground along the Ontario shoreline, and south into the drumlins. If the apples we buy at P&C are from Washington or Argentina, where do New York apples go?... and why?

Our green countryside slides beneath the plane; hills, plains, rivers and lakes. I could sit forever and watch the scenery or the clouds appear in the distance and pass beneath the wing. Flying refreshes, recharges, and relaxes me. When I return to the ground I can ponder the questions of the apple market, but while I am flying, I am just a kid with his face pressed against the window.

Sodus Bay on Lake Ontario, viewed from the west.

Apple Country

The Erie Canal as it passes through Newark, NY.