Recently, we drove by a farm where a windmill had apparently fallen down and was very neglected looking. I thought that was very sad. I love windmills. Here you'll see a small picture of Julia and I at Aunt Laverna's farm--one of my favorite growing up places. In my memory's eye, it was very picturesque. If you squint, you can see a piece of the barn which was the typical picture perfect red and white barn; there was also a windmill and pond, and mean geese. This colt's name was Flicka and Julia says she has every reason to remember it, but that's her story to tell. I loved Aunt Laverna's farm and home. I've returned to it a couple of times--once when it was abandoned, but still had charm and once when it was an isolated derelict in a plowed field. The house still stood proud and stylish. Windmills always remind me of sweet Great Aunt Laverna and her beloved Uncle Johnny.
Wind machines have dominated our mornings for a couple of weeks now. I tried to take a picture to no avail. You can't see the machines but they are, essentially, big propellers which keep the warm air circulating in an orchard on frosty mornings. We awake to these sounds and Chaticleer every morning. They put in a new orchard last year so we are surrounded. One visitor to our house described it as listening to a Mac truck with its engine running sitting in the back yard. Another said it sounded like the house was going to take off any minute.
Now, finally, windbags. Don't you get tired of them? I just know about too many. Politicians and reporters and news people and Rush Limbaugh. I've been torturing myself with a podcast where the "quilter" uses it as a forum to vent her problems at work, etc. Every time I listen, I chastise myself for listening!
Have a great and, hopefully, not windy day.
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