One of my favorite things on our land is our windmills. They aren’t functioning windmills, but they sure add a touch of nostalgia.
The first windmill came from a property that my husband and I renovated. It needed a lot of work, but with the help of our good friend who just happened to be a windmill restoration expert, she was brought back to life using all the original parts.
The second windmill we got was half buried on a ranch and the owner did not want it. Steve and I worked in the hot summer to get it all loaded up on a flatbed trailer and brought her home. Again, my friend fixed her up to the beauty she is today.
The latest windmill sits outside our kitchen window. I am in awe of her every single day. She has bluebird houses and birdfeeders on her frame. Her antiquated blades turn with the slightest breeze.
The feeling of days gone by is conjured up every time I pull into our gate. I imagine there were lots of windmills around a hundred years ago. Our little community wasn’t very big back in those days. A small school, a few farms, maybe a feed store. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and see what our area looked like. It hasn’t changed too much, but the big city is coming our way, Too fast for my liking.
I hope to think these windmills will be around for a while after we are gone. To me, they represent our history, how self-sufficient our ancestors were, and how hard they worked on this land. I am sure that during the Dust Bowl era, the windmills may have provided life-saving water for themselves and their livestock.
I can’t think of home without thinking of our windmills. They are my beacon and I love their squeaking, rattling, and rusty presence.
Until next time, be kind to each other.
Much love,
Cindy
Amos 4:13