We are rolling down the runway, increasing speed. At 70 knots, my husband lifts the nose of our small plane and we are suddenly airborne. Looking down, I can see the treetops, then the diagram of the town, and soon a panorama of hills and highways. We are heading south and west, toward Mississippi.

I grew up seeing America by taking classic journeys, along interstates riding in the back seat of the family station wagon and later on Route 66 in the front seat of a VW Beetle. I rode the train, watching the scenery of the upper Midwest from the glassy Vista-Dome cars. Now, many of my travels are in the air, in a small propeller plane that offers an intimate experience that bears little resemblance to that of flying in a big commercial airliner.

My pilot-husband and I have been meandering around the country for many months now in our single-engine four-seater propeller plane. We land at small town airports, where the airlines never land, and where even occasional private jets are easily outnumbered by crop dusters. There are more than 150,000 small piston planes flying in the United States, offering a view of America and life that is otherwise rare to find.