Today I returned from my first plane flight since the Covid-19 outbreak.  I flew from Charlottesville to Charlotte to do a farm consult for a young family on a multi-generational farm.  We spent yesterday dreaming and going through financial and resource issues, marketing and distribution, and putting together a plan to leverage their current position into a truly thriving pastured livestock farm.

             Normally I would have taken many flights in the last two months traveling to speaking engagements promoting good farming and honest food.  Wow, what a change the last two months have made.  First, my original 1:30 p.m. flight Wednesday was cancelled and they put me on a 5:30 flight.  When I arrived at the airport, the main parking lot was closed.  I couldn't access my normal spot.

             The only available parking was in the two satellite lots--they don't have attendants.  So I parked out there and hoofed it to the terminal.  The normal hustle and bustle was instead an eerie hush, like a funeral home.  I was prepared for temperature taking and questions, but none of that existed.

             I went through the pre-check line that then merged with the normal line.  Instead of carrying a red card signifying my pre-check status, the TSA booth operator gave a high sign to the standing-around TSA security screener to let me through on pre-check protocols.  They were only running one security line.  I went through and headed upstairs to the American gate.

             None of the vending areas was open:  CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.  Where were the people who normally worked there, I wondered.  A few minutes before the flight I went for my normal pre-boarding routine bathroom break, except that the bathrooms were all closed.  I had to go back downstairs to that bathroom, and half of it was closed off.  Why clean extra toilets?  Duh.  I didn't think about that.  Oh, the little things.  I went back upstairs and started looking around for how many passengers might be on the plane.  I counted about 10.

             Boarding time.  I stepped on the plane and the flight attendant said "sit wherever you want."  I sat in the bulkhead--more leg room.  No snacks, no beverages.  I see where the flight attendants' union is asking for regulations to demand that all passengers be required to wear face masks.  Airline employees and passengers were even at about 50 percent masks and 50 percent nonmasks.  I was in the non group.

             The airlines nickel and dime us to death on seats, luggage and everything imaginable, then when Covid-19 hits they demand $50 billion of our money to ride it out, then the flight attendants provide no service whatsoever and demand that riders wear masks--I wonder what else the airlines could do to aggravate their customers?

             Every time I went by a person wearing a mask, I wondered if they were judging me.  I could almost hear the "murderer" epithet muttered under their breath.  I wanted to explain, kindly and humbly to each one:  "I want to breathe your air, immerse in your world; ecosystems are inclusive, immersive, integrated and we all gain strength by hugging," but we don't have time for such conversations.  If you express anything but fear you're a contagion torpedo, a cultural liability, a blot, a scab on the planet who should probably be exterminated.  No place for heretics here.

             As we taxied out to the end of the runway, I noticed the grass fields out there completely covered with rental cars.  Hundreds of them.  They're all parked with no place to go.  And when we took off, it was like being hurled from a slingshot.  I've flown enough to know the feel of take off, and without any passengers or cargo the plane literally jumped off the runway. 

             As I return home, my sense of people-watching brings only one word to mind:  desperation.  I see it in faces; it's like zombies walking around.  Everybody is in shock.  Those of us who think most government intervention has been inappropriate dare not say so for fear of offending the hysterically paranoid.  The paranoid look at me like a predator.   We seem to be dividing into the "we cares" and the "we don't cares" based on face masks and demeanor.  Smiling is taboo.  We all must be in the emotional doldrums.  I see this as further dividing, not unifying.   I can't get a shoeshine--that's nonessential.  But what about that gal I've always paid double for the shine?  Where is she today?  How is she enjoying the label "NONESSENTIAL?"

             What would you do if you were the CEO of American Airlines?