There’s a therapeutic quality to the wind, a soothing sound that can calm a weary mind. I’m sitting on our deck as evening begins to descend and envelop me. It’s been a hot, humid day that zaps your energy and slows you down.
But now as darkness slowly creeps across the landscape, the wind, a cooling wind, has arrived. It feels good. It feels refreshing. It lifts my spirits.
I’m not one who spends a lot of time sitting and watching television. I’d rather be living life, and watching and listening to the life taking place around me in the natural world. I took a walk along the fence line and listened to the wind in the tall grass swaying in the breeze. As I came to a grove of trees the sounds changed. I closed my eyes and listened to all the sounds around me, trying to distinguish the many subtle differences. The wind rustling the leaves in the poplar tree has a different sound than a maple or an evergreen.
As I stood and listened, I was reminded of a scene in the movie, “Dances With Wolves,” where the wind is blowing through the trees and tall grass as they talk about how many white men will be coming. I thought of how much this land I was standing on had changed since 1848 when the first white man set foot on this area called Coon Prairie. At that time, this land was covered with trees and tall prairie grass waving in the breeze. The Ho Chunk occupied the land. One of their villages was located a mile from where our house is. That area became known as Old Towne.
Even Olson Gullord, the first white man to explore this area, staked a claim to land southeast of our house, near where Smith School would later be located. I can see that spot from where I sit as I write this. So many changes have taken place since those days.
I wonder what the natives who occupied this land thought, as more and more white men arrived and started cutting down trees and building houses on the land they called home and had been home to their ancestors for many centuries?
How would I feel and what would I do today, if people suddenly arrived and began occupying our land, cutting down trees, building houses, and acting like they could do whatever they wanted with the area that’s now my home. This area has been home to my ancestors since the 1850’s. I know I’d try to stop intruders from moving in and pushing me off the land, even if I had to resort to taking up arms against them.
Those thoughts and images blew in with the wind today and rattled around in my mind.
Listening to the wind also made me think of Chief Joseph’s words, “The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of the pond, the smell of the wind itself cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with pinion pines…” I can certainly relate to those words.
As I observed the world around me, four hawks flew lazy circles in the field behind our house. Wings outstretched, they floated and circled effortlessly, like spirits returning from the distant past to a land long gone, but not forgotten. When I see birds gliding around like that, hovering on invisible shafts of air, I wish that I could fly. Such freedom. Such beauty.
I experienced more of the beauty of the land when we were in Woodville over the weekend for Uff da Days and a book signing at Lena and Ole’s Gifts, owned by Julie and Lane Backus. Julie is my cousin. On Sunday morning, Lane and I explored their seventy acres of rolling hills, wild flowers, woods, and pond on a two-mile path he’s made around the property. Wild flowers of all kinds were in full bloom and the trees were filled with colorful berries and fruit. There were some that neither of us could identify. We came to a wild patch of black caps and stopped to pick and eat some. The thorny vines tried to keep us out, but when those delicious berries were ripe for the picking, nothing could stop us.
The fields were filled with birds, and turtles cooled themselves in the pond. I’ve never seen as many Humming Birds as we saw that day at their feeders. We watched as wasps busily built a home in the ground. The sunlight allowed us to peer into the bottom of the foot-deep hole and watch as each wasp dug a mouthful of dirt, crawled back out of the hole, flew away, and deposited it elsewhere. We listened to the many sounds of nature around us, and of course, enjoyed the wind blowing gently through the wild flowers and leaves of the trees. There was such quiet and peacefulness. This was nature’s cathedral, as magnificent as any man-made cathedral you could enter. Stained glass windows can’t hold a candle to it.
This is a wonderful time of year in the Midwest. The trees and fields are alive with fruits, berries, and wildflowers. Don’t miss the sights, sounds, and smells. Go for a drive or walk in the country and be sure you listen for the voices of the wind.
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