Where I came from, Kansas, there are windmills in every farmyard. Many are working mills that pump water for gardens or stock troughs; some are just novelties from days gone by. When my family moved to Texas, many years back, there was an obvious lack of windmills...I now know why...there is hardly ever any wind! Yet...for me..there had to be windmills...my farmyard needed them...for me a windmill is a thing of comfort, recognition..a novelty from my past, my people, the roots that I grew from.
So, I have set in my farmyard several windmills...one in front of my house, dead center of the garden there...one in the greenhouse garden plot, off center in a raised herb bed...one in the corn field pasture, near the grazing pen of hens..and a miniature red one, right in the middle of the iris bed.
Each one is different in size and color ..they have been collected over the years that I have lived here. On breezy winter mornings, they turn and whirl..reminding me of the Kansas winds. It is a marked moment around here, because our Texas area is not know for breezy days...we all stop our activities and go to look at the turning and whirling of our windmills.
These treasures of mine have withstood the test here in our stormy state; surviving tornadoes, hurricanes and sheer winds. Several times my dear husband and the farmboy have needed to pound one back into shape after severe weather has toppled them over - or dropped a tree on them. Yet, they stand...a reminder of strength..of the bumps and dents here in our lives. They are special to me...I love them.