Ice Crystals hung in the air early Sunday morning as Jim Snodgrass and I scraped brittle frost off his airplane, shoved our way through drifts to the runway. Two hours later we were in southern Indiana with bright sunshine very little snow, but mud, acres and acres of mud.

Those picturesque and lovely lower Hoosier counties do not reflect their colorful beauty in mid-winter. But from above, they are fascinating. Miles and miles of rugged hills, deep valleys, woods, punctured by blackened rock formations.

And airports? You fellows who fly from the kind we have around here have no kick coming, believe me!

Lawyer Jim and I decided it would be nice to stop off in Sullivan and see local doctor Jim Hicks, fresh out of the hospital and convalescing in the Davis hotel. We found the Doc, mending fast while seated on a rubber ring! Our time was very short for we had wasted an hour circling the town hunting for an airport. Picking a fair looking field, we dropped down to discover that the spring thaw was underway. Mud was only a half-inch deep when we landed, oozed over our shoes by the time we were ready to leave. It was unseasonably warm.

Just north of Sullivan from Terre Haute on, I came to my first realization of what strip-mining has done to thousands of acres in southwestern Indiana. Huge piles of debris, rock, dirt and coal dust littered the landscape--in some place as far as you could see. Between these enormous piles would be a farm or two. The land, churned and left exposed, appeared useless. Scar tissues on the face of the earth, man-made by huge shovels, had masticated entire farms.

Leaving Sullivan behind, we struck southeast toward Lagootee, Indiana, where Jim and Mary Snodgrass used to live. It's a quiet little valley town, rests at the Western edge of the southern Indiana hills. A few miles east is the village of Shoals.

The airport at Shoals is busy. The flyers that come from there are good. They have to be. One strip runs north and south, bordered on the immediate east and west by hills that reach upward possibly 400 feet. The single landing strip is the floor of a short valley. Taking off north, your immediate prospect is a 400-foot rock bluff. We took off south. It's better that way. The 200-foot rocky hill on that end of the field is slightly off center. Gives you room to the left of center to claw for altitude.

The mud was really deep at Shoals with spring and the dogwood just around the corner. the hills are blue to brown now--blue where hillsides are wooded with out trees, brown where erosion has left nothing but rocky soil.

Flying northeast again toward Warsaw, we soared to 7,000 feet in the clear Sunday blue, saw Bedford, Martinsville, Bloomington fall away and passed the huge dark smudge of Indianapolis. The bright white snow-belt of northern Indiana was under us again and before we realized it, Winona, Pike and Center lakes lay on the nose of the ship. The trip back from Shoals, 210 miles to the southwest, and nearly seven hours driving time over tortuous roads, it was over in one hour, forty minutes.

I've driven through southern Indiana before, gazed with limited perspective and one or two hills at a time, cast an appreciative eye down one valley at a time. The overall picture of this rugged country as seen from the air, is an education in itself. The footprints of the ancient glacier, if that is what they are, become very real. You see the flat country turn to young mountains--then miles and miles of peaks and valleys. Here and there a house stands lonely vigil upon a hilltop. Prosperous-looking farm head every valley. There is no pattern to the road. They look from the air like aerial views of war-time trench networks--as indeed they are. Visible evidence of the human's war upon nature--monuments to his victory of transport.

And so we spent Sunday, in pleasant pursuit of happiness, inspired and awed by the handiwork of God, our vision made possible by the ingenuity of man.

Many more folks will soon enjoy the full fruits of flying as new students solo everyday at Warsaw airports, new private pilots are made. This last week, Chester Miller, Jim Miner, and Arnold Sellers, all of Etna Green and John Clark of Syracuse soloed airplanes. Lawrence Rife, of Warsaw, was awarded his coveted private certificate. Most interesting new student at local fields is Norma Hartman, former WAVE, of Nappanee. Sail-ho!

Warsaw Daily Times, Mon. Feb. 16, 1948