The wind this week has been epic. Perhaps not as epic as in December when we had gusts blast through our yard at 90-plus miles an hour, but still pretty darn epic. Anything that was loosened up by those December winds but didn’t blow away then is long gone now.
High winds, especially when it is also cold, make everything harder. This is exponentially more true for outdoor chores. The giant round bale of hay that I pull from to feed my sheep is half unfurled now. I suppose it’s lucky that the hay hasn’t completely blown away, but instead has been rewoven into a new, even tighter, sideways configuration. The result, however, is that when I go out to feed in winds like this, I spend a lot of time and energy trying to loosen the hay enough to pull it out with the pitchfork, only to have the wind grab it and carry it away as soon as I do.
There’s also the water arriving sideways out of the hydrant, which makes it much more difficult to catch in a bucket. Then there’s the bucket itself that I didn’t stash carefully enough the night before and now needs to be located and retrieved from an undisclosed fence corner half a block away. Finally, sloshing water on myself is always a possibility, but in high winds it’s definitely more likely to happen and a whole lot more unpleasant when it does.
Perhaps the worst part of high wind is something that doesn’t happen outdoors at all. When the wind gets this loud and howly, I find it almost impossible to get a good night’s sleep, and I know I’m not alone in this. Even tucked safe and warm inside our cozy house, some animal part of my instincts refuses to go completely offline and remains alert and ready. Ready for what I do not know, but I’ve spent more nights awake in the dark, listening to the wind shaking the panes of glass and whistling around the corners of the house than I care to count.
So, here we are, day three of this wind, and I’m dreading going out to do the chores, which is usually my happy place. Meanwhile, I had one kid sick last week, and now the other one has spiked a fever. It’s a lot. Truth be told, though, I wasn’t sleeping well even before the sickness and the wind. I’m also heartsick with worry for all my friends, family and old neighbors in Minnesota who are suffering in ways it’s hard to describe to those who don’t personally know people directly affected.
Yesterday, while one kid was feeling better, and the second was not yet sick, I told the kids that if they wanted to feel the most powerful wind of their lives so far, they should bundle up and go outside. They immediately decided they wanted to walk all the way to the end of the driveway as a challenge. I didn’t dissuade them, but figured they’d be back right away, their plans abandoned once they actually felt the wind. I’d barely made it across the yard myself, and I’m a lot bigger than they are.
I watched out the window as they flailed and stumbled, laughing as they were yanked side to side by the gusts. But they didn’t give up. Instead, they turned their backs to the wind, joined arms, and started walking in lockstep. It took a while, but they made it to the end of the driveway and then ran back toward the house, pumping their arms and cheering the whole way.
I don’t know what lies ahead for us as a country and a planet, but to say we are facing a stiff wind is an understatement. I also don’t know what should be done on a policy or even a personal level, but I do know this — my kids had the right idea. We are better together, arms linked, walking shoulder to shoulder as siblings in this journey.
(Eliza Blue is a shepherd, folk musician and writer residing in western South Dakota. She also has a weekly show, “Live from the Home Farm,” that broadcasts on social media every Saturday night from her ranch.)
