Wind

I have memories of wind. Last night as a weather front moved over the valley I laid in bed listening and remembering. I left the window open just enough so I could hear the wind raging as it battered against the house and sent the tree branches outside my window thrashing wildly. Added to the roaring was a cacophony of tones from the wind chimes around the yard. The temperature dropped considerably and the house got cold. I snuggled with the cat under the covers, an extra quilt pulled up for weight. It reminded me of my early childhood when my brother and I would get under the thick, old quilts with Mom and tell stories as the wind whistled on a winters night. Big, thick quilts hand tied and sewn by my paternal great Aunt's in bright colors and fan designs. Ghost and adventure stories told in the dark curled up on Mom's arm. Certain types of wind are comforting.

Mono Lake to the North is one of my most favorite places in the Eastern Sierra. On this particular Fall day a couple of years ago I remember walking out to the shore on the boardwalk in the old Marina area. The wind, really a full gale that day, was wild and cold but I was determined. At times the gusts were so strong I felt as if I was pushing against a wall, walking at an angle against its strength. At the edge of the water I stood into the wind, leaning against it, feeling its full force. I closed my eyes and imagined myself soaring. I could feel spray from the Lake against my face. I don't know how long I stood there but eventually some German tourists made their way out to try and take pictures. It was too much for them and they quickly left probably thinking how strange this American woman was who was standing out here!

I got up in the middle of the night and went and sat on the window seat in the living room. The Moon was bright and lit up the Mesa and the surrounding mountains. I don't know what time it was but the Moon was making its way over the mountains to the South West. A bright star was to her right. Rows of clouds were making their way over Mt. Tom and I sat for a while. I thought of walking on the wide beaches of Cape Cod in the Fall when we were kids, pockets full of seashells, Mom with a big bouquet of reeds and grasses she had picked. The sound of the surf and wind. I thought about the wild storms of Texas; trees bent in half by the wind, hale pelting down, rain water running down the streets in great currents. I remember Mom getting Grandmother into the walk-in closet because she was sure we were having a tornado. I remembered a particular moving day back in Connecticut when I was a teenager. We were being transferred back to the West coast and a hurricane was moving in. We lived in a house that was built in the 1800's. As the rain and wind grew in intensity the front wall of the house seemed to bow inward. I've never seen movers move so fast! Just as the truck pulled out of the drive three old willow trees went down one after the other. Another memory of the house deep in the woods by the creek in Mammoth; wind roaring in the towering pine trees, blowing and piling great drifts of snow against the house and in the morning icicles in twisted designs shaped by the intense winds.

Yesterday afternoon I prepared for the change of weather. I harvested herbs and hung them to dry, potted plants were moved into the sun room and with the rumor of a considerable drop in temperature and knowing the winds out here, I wrapped the tomatoes, peppers, and tomatillos in flannel sheets pinned together with clothes pins and weighted down with rocks. It's been an odd summer with the plants taking their time to fruit. Now that Fall is here the vines are loaded and I don't want to lose it all now. We didn't get a frost but it was 39 degrees around 6:00 a.m. and I felt better knowing they were all tucked in snugly. The wind is still blowing but more gently. A quail is sitting in the tree looking down at me. The sky is blue and cloudless.

When we moved here to the Mesa there was a hummingbird nest in the tree next to the walkway. That mother bird sat on her two tiny eggs as the wind thrashed that branch around. She was steadfast as she sat through the wild ride and that is the lesson isn't it?