A stiff breeze has been blowing across East Central Illinois the past few days.
We were on our way back from watching “Flight” at the nearest multiplex. Despite the praise of the critics, we were unimpressed. Del thought the penultimate scene weak, and I found the vaunted air crash scene beyond the suspension of disbelief. So unlikely was the outcome of the flight in “Flight,” that even the fictional characters couldn’t reproduce it in their fictional simulators. An act of god? Uh. Pardon me, but in the contest between wooden church steeple and aircraft wing, aircraft wing must lose.
So back and forth we went, bitching about the movie. Del was attracted by a distant row of flashing red lights. The flashing was nearly in unison.
“What’s that?”
“The wind farm?”
“Want to check it out?”
“OK. What the hell.”
(Later, bouncing down single lane farm roads.)
“It might be farther away than it seems. Those towers are high.”
(Crunch of tires on dirt, jolt of vehicle in pothole.)
“Turn left.”
Eventually, we got close enough to make out the turning blades in the flashing light. The wind farm going full tilt in the dark is an awe inspiring thing. It makes me feel better about things; it seems as though we’re doing at least something right.
We kept on along our path until we came to an intersection. There was a diamond shaped traffic sign with the warning “no wind farm traffic.” At this forbidding sounding but really unintelligible message from the government, Del stopped the car. I got out to pee. It was the middle of agri-nowhere. I checked for wind direction. Crosswind. The windspeed was chilling out what had been an unseasonably warm afternoon and evening. Who knows what is seasonable anymore? The lights on the car went out. This made the heavens come alive. The milky way, the constellations, the bright light of Venus or Mars; these indicators of the cosmos we diminutively inhabit were as forceful as the breeze. Man and nature lined up there for a moment to the tune of a slapping blade. It was only for a moment. I climbed back into the car – it was becoming chilly out there!
By the light of day, it turns out that the wind farm is called California Ridge and is still under construction. The signage warns vehicles engaged in wind farm construction not to use so designated roads. So while construction crews are prohibited, we could have gone on and gotten perhaps even closer.
Del reports that there is a woman that attends meetings of the local governments to protest the wind farms. This woman says, loudly and publicly, that climate change is a “hoax.” Man and nature in alignment is not a universally accepted paradigm. Out here, the wind farm is decried by quite a few as unsightly. Some object to the sound of the blades. The traffic signs suggest some pushback by farmers against the inconvenience of construction on their rights of way. The regulation of competing interests in such endeavors is a function of government. All is in order. I am sustained by the fact of the wind farm more than I am disappointed by the nay-sayers. After all, there will always be those frightened by new ways of thinking and being. Luddites have been trashing machinery since 1812.
Outside, as I type, the wind is howling. Up the road a piece we humans are turning this into electric power. Harvesting the wind and sun is a testament to our ingenuity. If we are going to walk away from our crash, we’d best not depend on god.