For the first time since about, I think, 1979 or 1980, I went to the Oshkosh fly-in. I don’t fly but I used to back then, so going to the Oshkosh fly-in every year was a ritual akin to going to church, and just as deeply fulfilling an experience. And although it was a fly-in held at one of the biggest airfields in Wisconsin, it had the feel of a fly-in at a grass strip in a central Wisconsin county. I am almost certainly romanticizing it at this 44-year remove, but only just enough to make me feel better. We camped in alfalfa fields, strolled between the rows of old planes parked in hay fields just off the runway, shuffled through canvas tents to peer at the books and hardware and second-hand clothes on sale, and sat cross-legged in the grass under the wings of DC-3 Gooney Birds to watch the air show.

There’s still a lot to see and do, but I didn’t get a grass-strip fly-in feeling from going to it this time around. Entry to the field was once a gap in a snow fence; now it’s a broad gateway flanked by permanent ticketing pavilions where long back-and-forth lines of incoming tourists are processed before they’re admitted through the main gates to walk up the wide central boulevard to Boeing Plaza. It felt less like a visit to a clapboard church in the countryside and more like slogging across a wide, hot parking lot to sit through a service in a megachurch.

It’s not even called the Oshkosh Fly-In anymore. It’s the Experimental Aircraft Association’s “Air Venture.” Yikes. I wonder how much money they paid a consultant to come up with that clunker?

Whatever. I went to see the airplanes, not to go on an “air venture.” Lucky for me they still have lots and lots of planes parked in row after long row across vast fields of freshly-mown grass, and I had a pretty good time for as long as I wandered among them, which was a long time. Hopscotching from one field to the next, I strolled up and down the rows of old planes, sticking my head into the cockpits if the doors were open, reading the displays that explained how they were lovingly restored by their owners.

I had to pop out of the fields every so often to find a spigot to refill my water bottle because it turned out to be a punishingly hot all day with relentless sunshine, smothering humidity, and a dim haze that clung to the sky. Each time I emerged from the rows and rows of planes, I was met with concession stands selling ten-dollar pretzels and four-dollar cans of soda pop. I stuck to eating the snacks I brought with me and drinking the tepid water I got from spigots outside the rest rooms.

After slowly wandering from one end of the flight line to the other I doubled back to see if the exhibition halls were worth a look-see. They might have been, but they were packed tight with too many people. I had a final look around the outdoor exhibits, gradually making my way closer to the main gate, and finally left at about mid-afternoon.