Wind Again

Last night I laid awake thinking about wind. There was a nice breeze off the Pond. For most of the day while I sat on the porch reading and writing, a strong wind shook the trees abound the house. In contrast this morning Arey’s is a sheet of glass. I wondered did I previously write about wind? A quick search of posts found “Wind” from August 2022. My stimulus then was the wind on Pleasant Bay beach. Several days ago I labeled this type of reflective sense awareness, “Stonington Way.”       Bucks County   Breeze, wind, blow, gale. From the north, south, east, west. Alone or with rain or snow. Hurricane, blizzard. Sometimes we’re aware, the wind behind us; tossing our hair, in our face; walking into the wind. I have many memories of the wind. We visited the Smith’s on Cape Cod in the 1970s and Diane’s father took us to the beach to fly a kite. In Nantucket we always had wind chimes. One year they were gone, I went to hardware store and purchased some. In Yardley we have three different types. The most recent is from Maine, a North Country Buoy bell. The largest is a Woodstock aluminum.   Wolverine CAMERA   The wind is always associated with the water the shore, ocean and bay, with their salt breezes. Lovely. Refreshing. Unless it brings black flies. During the 1980s we had many great wind experiences sailing with Jerry and Susan Taylor out of Rock Hall on the Chesapeake Bay. Obviously there would be no sailing without wind. Some trips, some days we were full sail. Not always.             My most windy sail was in the Philadelphia, three masted former fishing barkentine Gazela. I was part of the crew one sail from Philadelphia to New London. Leaving Philadelphia I was behind the wheel (next to me was an experienced pilot). Once we passed the bay, the engine was cut and sails raised. The wind filled them, silent, we cut through the water. I’ve had other sailing experiences (most recently a day sail out of Rock Hall) and been on various motor boats but nothing will compare to the Gazela sail.             Less dramatic is sitting on the beach, waves, gulls, gentle ocean breeze; the memory serves as my counting sheep for sleep. For several years I’ve enjoyed sitting on our deck; a breeze rustling the trees (and birds) breaks the silence. These are subtle but memorable experiences if we take the time.              I associate memories of the wind with flags. Snapping on the bows of boats. In Lumberville, the Tinsman family have maintained a huge flag flying from the walking bridge. It billows out across the river. Small flags in cemeteries; huge flags over car dealerships.                  One of the strongest winds I remember was on the west coast of Ireland.  We were setting up a tent.  The wind blew strong; we could barely get it up.  When we did we had the fill the floor with rocks to keep it from blowing away.  A windy sleep.   I’ll be more aware of the wind; enjoy its different faces and moods.