Wind

        I have lived nearly all of my life in windy places.  First, eastern Nebraska, then eastern Colorado followed by western Nebraska and east-central Kansas.  When the forecast called for a windy day  I knew fairly well what to expect.  If it was summer, it felt like a blast furnace outside with the wind trying to blow the clothes right off your body and in winter you drew your coat as tight as possible around yourself and tucked your face into your scarf as the wind would suck the very breath from your lungs.  In any season, lawn and deck furniture or any other outside decorations or tools could be found far from their usual spots.  Oftentimes, you felt as if you were walking sideways as you struggled not to be blown away.  In that part of the country, wind is a thing of the earth.      
       Two years ago, I moved to western Washington which is not known for wind.  Most days, the air moves hardly at all, at other times, there will be a soft breeze brushing your cheeks.  Sometimes, though, there is Wind; but it is a different kind of wind.  When the weatherman announces that it will be windy, I have learned what to expect.  When I step outside I feel the wind as a slight breeze ruffling my hair, but mostly I hear it high up in the tops of the trees.  These wonderful old firs and pines which can reach to more than 150 feet above the earth; they hold the wind.  The sound is like a constant dull roar sometimes growing louder and louder, sometimes almost fading away before it comes roaring back.

       The velocity of the wind is different here, too.  In the midwest and western states, the wind speeds can reach 60-70-80-90mph; sometimes topping 100 mph.  These fierce winds can blow stationary cars across a parking lot, tear roofs off buildings and blow semi-trucks and mobile homes over.  Here in the Pacific Northwest, however, expected winds of 25, 35 or 40mph are enough to illicit a High Wind Warning.  The reason for this is the trees that I mentioned earlier.  These beautiful, stately somewhat aloof giants becoming menacing and dangerous when the wind blows.  At any other time they stand quietly ignoring what is going on down around their feet, but not so when the wind blows.  In this place of rain, beaches and trees, the wind belongs to the trees.
       That is why I am sitting at my dining room table in the middle of the night accompanied by a large candle, an oil lamp and a cup of tea made with water heated on my gas stove writing about the wind.  It is a windy night.  The trees are blowing, the power is out and I am hoping that one of these gentle giants doesn't fall on my house.