Wind.

On a Zoom this week there were traveler’s tales of places and experiences to stretch a limited (most always car bound) explorer’s mind. It reminded me that from a distance we cannot truly experience where we have not stood. There is a quality to the air. There are smells we don’t know. There are foods that are far outside of what we think of as consumable. There are customs, and rules, and etiquettes we never knew existed. But primary are the unexpected norms of topography and weather systems. That is the nature of Geography.

Living in an environment which is new to us it often takes us a long time for a sense of knowing. This only becomes a part of our knowledge much later and only if we pay attention.

In a borderline teensy town in Northern Vermont I learned about wind. The geography was a high plateau and I did not expect that wind would be such a huge part of living in that landscape. Winters there brought snowdrifts that reached above the tops of cars, where impassible drifts blocked the one road in to and out of town.

The spring winds jeopardized new garden plants put in the ground after the last frost and they required protection or the wind would kill them in a matter of days. I used what was available—gallon plastic jugs, over a hundred of them, which I dragged to the garden’s edge by attaching them to a long rope and pulling hard. They were awkward to handle but cheap, gathered from friends who bought store milk for their families.

Each plant had its own jug as a sort of mini greenhouse, anchored by soil packed around its base. The jug was not removed until the stalk of the tomato or pepper plant had become strong and the leaves began crowding one another inside the container. Such accommodations were necessary to grow a family’s food supply under harsh conditions.

My mistakes, my ignorance about weather, of wind and geography, of currents and fast moving air was duplicated or compounded when I moved to Maine’s coast many years after living in Vermont. Once more in this new place I underestimated the power of wind and its incessant battering, particularly in the winter months. Tonight, once again the wind slams into the south side of the house, shaking the walls. Ear plugs would be wise but they would also block out warning signals, although that didn’t work because sometime in the last couple of weeks a very large rock slab was tossed on to the lawn along with quite a substantial scattering of shale shards. Despite my usually hyper alert attention to the possibility of such conditions, I missed the wave or waves that threw these rocks onto the lawn. My guess is that it happened in the dark of night. This evidence increases my awareness that, indeed, the house, our belongings, our very bodies could be similarly tossed by a rogue wave or a too high tide with intensely powerful surf. That’s something to think about. (Or not.)

But still, geographic and weather ignorance can be countered by research. Wind and wave are the two major aspects of a coast’s ecosystem. But winds here exceed my previous experience in landlocked Vermont. Routine winds or gusts of 40, 50, 60 mph or more can happen any time although winter is the most likely season for their appearance on the Northeastern Atlantic Coast. I wonder if I had been born here would these winds still agitate me the way they do as one storm follows another?

Today would have been a “reprieve” day as it was in the 40’s after yet another bout of single digit temperatures. Instead the wind rose and pounded the rocks, the ledge, and the houses facing the water for most of the day. Outdoor time was brief or non-existent.

I am weary but the chances of sound sleep will be iffy without those ear plugs.

Storm and What Comes After.

The morning after the storm there was brilliant sunshine sparkling on the waves and the snow drifts. Evidence of high winds were illustrated by the patches of bare ground in close proximity to sculpted drifts. Unexpected, was the still frozen snow inside the house very close to a heating duct and the vent to the clothes dryer which spit out frozen particles when the dryer was turned on.

When fierce winds encounter barriers (like a house built on a rise) the force of impact creates what appear to be mini tornado swirls which slam into whatever stops the forward momentum. When such a wind is carrying a heavy snowfall the results can be dramatic.

This was “merely” a winter nor’easter. It was not a flood or an earthquake that tore the house from its foundation. It was not a fire which consumed everything in its path.   There are so many means of destruction and this latest storm was not anything like that. But still, the following morning when it was All Things Bright and Beautiful outside my spirits were low. 

Hunkering down requires a lot more energy than is obvious. The house was cold and I’d retreated for many hours under warm covers. There were only a brief few minutes of outside exposure in an attempt to video nature’s power. Any exposed skin was in pain after less than three minutes. All clothing was coated in seconds of snow being driven by furious winds. There were no thoughts that movement outside was possible. Attempts at seeing the road from the house confirmed predicted whiteout conditions. The worry about the power holding was an underlying hum.

So where was next day elation that the storm had moved on? Coastal weather systems move more quickly than inland storms, especially the storms that seem to get snagged by mountain tops. Getting through the tough parts on the shore only requires steadfastness for a matter of hours because storms move rapidly when encountering the vast sea. Yet what I felt the following morning was a kind of storm hangover that had nothing to do with alcohol. 

Most of us have had life experiences that required us to be fully on top of a situation. If you’ve experienced an accident or a threat you may have been surprised at your reaction after the event was resolved. Such reactions can manifest physically such as a shaking of the body or a sudden profound cold. “After” can also be manifest by reactions of the psyche, as if you understand in some recess of your being, the crisis is over and you can now let go. 

We often expect too much of ourselves, denying what should be obvious, shutting down as a way to recover and letting go of the bulwark we gathered when it was needed. And those winds? I learned a few days late that a wind gust out here was clocked by someone owning an anemometer at 71 mph.

The road to self-nurture can take a lifetime. We walk it one step at a time.