The timing of our Czech Republic mission allowed us a unique and rare experience: being at 35,000 feet over the continental United States on the evening of the Fourth of July.
As you might guess, the view was spectacular.
At first, I had guesstimated that we’d be both too early and too far north to see holiday fireworks. But as the sun set a couple hours out of Chicago, I opened the window and glanced down, and my breath caught. Pinprick flares of multicolored light against the dark land in every direction, as far as the eye could see, intensifying around a small town just to the south.
I alerted the others and we stared out with delight. I briefly wondered if we actually were over Canada and maybe they have their own Fourth fireworks just for the heck? But after consulting the onboard computers, we realized that the town to the south could only be Albany, NY. We were seeing the Fourth from the air after all!
Then we looked ahead of us and beheld a massive web of light terminating along a solid line: a coastal city. It was Boston. Where it all began. The tea party, the Boston Massacre, the first clashes at Lexington and Concord. The city obviously knew its history that night (or they were celebrating because I was leaving, I dunno). The only comparison I can draw to the view that night is Star Wars space battles: Boston was ablaze with tiny flashes of light. And as we flew over the coastline, still more fireworks: cruise ships off the coast were hosting their own professional displays. It was a sight I’ll not soon forget.
I must confess. Over the years, I’ve grown a bit cynical about the whole America deal.