Why the Windmill?
(Ode to the Windmill)
There it stands alone and still,
My old boyhood friend, the windmill.
"What's this contraption?" city-folk may ask,
"If it works, what is its task?"
Let it loose and you will see
It turns wind to water for you and me.
I grew up with windmills. The first 15 years of my life, all our water came directly out of the earth, thanks to our windmill. All over the tens of thousands of acres of West Texas one traveling through the area sees hundreds of these silent sentinels of the west. They stand alone, requiring nothing outside their own identity, driven by natural forces, green before green was cool. They draw clean, clear, cool water from deep within the earth. They accurately symbolize the character of the people among whom I spent my most formative years, rugged, independent, consistent and selfless, doing their jobs and living their lives, asking for nothing in return. These wondrous creations (the windmills) emit no fumes, record no carbon footprint and leave both land and climate undisturbed. Like the people around them, they seem willing to be taken for granted, can exist a lifetime without having to be affirmed, applauded or rewarded. They are just there doing what windmills were made to do . . . make water out of wind.
Nowadays you may go to Hawaii, Germany, Oklahoma or Texas and see gigantic multimillion- dollar machines creating energy by the same means my friend, the windmill, has for centuries. An idea generally disregarded until recently. Thus we were all losers until, hidden in plain sight, we awakened to the value of . . . the windmill!
When I moved from the country to the city to pastor, I longed for the country, its fragrances, its sights, its sounds, even its odors (ugh) but none more than the windmill. Eventually we moved to the country. Far out in West Texas on an engagement I saw a windmill, dismantled and lying flat on the ground. My heart was touched and I asked the owner if I could have it. To my delight he answered in the affirmative. It was moved to my five acre spread where we built a foundation and reconstructed the windmill piece by piece. We turned it loose and it was like the first time I fell in love with the windmill, love at first sound, the audible "cluck" from the little wind-driven motor that sounds with every turn of the wheel. With that first "cluck" all the gathered memories of life on the farm came back again. We never drilled a well so it never pumped water but the sounds I heard were like music to my ears and satisfied a longing that nothing else could have ever met.
MEET MY OLD FRIEND AND WELCOME THE WINDMILL!
Jack Taylor, Country boy come to town!
