A Light Wind Swept Over the Corn
“A light wind swept over the corn, and all nature laughed in the sunshine. ”
Last September, I watched a short video clip by Julia Sparkle, who I follow on Instagram (@juliafsparkle). Julia was at the Dungeness Estate in the UK, photographing “the strangely beautiful ramble shackle houses dotted amongst the shingle and landscape”. The backdrop of her video is wind, and as I listened, I knew it was an ocean wind. How did I know that? I could hear the waves, pushed by the wind, crashing on the shore.
Somehow, I knew it was the Atlantic Ocean. The wind had a tone I remember from my childhood in the Netherlands. I love an ocean breeze. Hearing the wind in Julia’s video was a reminder that not all ocean winds sound alike. There are the relentless, exhausting winds in Newfoundland, winds that might drive me mad if I lived there year-round. Even on rainy days, I love feeling tropical ocean breezes on my face. At the end of our street, the wind howls through the masts of the fishing boats. And then, there is the familiar wind I encounter as I walk along the west coast of Canada, creating huge rollers that pound the shore.
“As long as there has been an earth, the moving masses of air that we call winds have swept back and forth across its surface. And as long as there has been an ocean, its waters have stirred to the passing of the winds. Waves result from the action of wind on water.”
- Rachel Carson, The New Yorker (1951)
In last week’s blog, I wrote about Gordon Hempton, an acoustic geologist who records silence. In an interview with Krista Tippett, she asks him about the sound of wind. “And sometimes you do wind, right? “…Sounds that we almost don’t think of as sounds, like grass waving.”
Hampton responds, ”Oh, grass wind, oh, that is absolutely gorgeous — grass wind, and pine wind — we can go back to the writings of John Muir…he turned me on to the fact that the tone, the pitch of the wind is a function of the length of the needle or the blade of grass. And so the shorter the needle on the pine, the higher the pitch; the longer, the lower the pitch.”
My favourite wind is the approaching wind at our island home, first heard brushing the long grass in the farmer’s fields across the road. Then building, as the wind reaches the shelter of trees in front of our property. Sometimes, the wind is so gentle I think I can hear the sound of each individual leaf softly sighing. The Greeks have a word for this, psithurism, a rustling or whispering sound. “Standing in the glade, I heard a quiet psithurism straddling the line between music and noise”. On other days, our island winds build to a roar, causing branches to bend and creak. Trees crack and fall over, blocking roads and snapping power lines; sometimes leaving us without power for several days. This is the only wind that gives me anxiety. I worry that one of the majestic Douglas firs on our property might crash into our roof.
The air is rarely still at our island home. Mostly, we live with a gentle breeze. The wind chimes play quietly while swallows float through the air. In the afternoon, a westerly wind may blow our way. We then move from the north side of our deck to the east side. Occasionally, the wind will follow us, upending the sun umbrella and knocking over plants.
Winds also accompany me on this journey rowing north. Heavy gales occasionally make me fearful on this journey. Luckily, I never have to contend with much more than a gentle breeze, allowing for calm waters and slow meandering.
What comes to mind when you think of the sounds of wind? What winds are propelling your journey north these days?