Wind Tunnel

wind corridor

That's just another New Yorker cartoon that's been on my refrigerator forever..but it gives a good idea of what it's been like around here all week. Those infamous Gaviota winds have been blowing relentlessly. It's kind of a springtime phenomenon, and we should be used to it by now, but it always wears me down.

My limited understanding of wind is that air flows from high to low pressure, and as it does that in our part of the world, it pushes through the passes and canyons of the Santa Ynez Range, particularly through the Gaviota Pass, San Marcos Pass, Montecito foothills and some of the smaller canyons. This funneling effect makes for an especially strong wind.

In interviews with Ranch old-timers, the wind is often mentioned as the cause of marital break-ups and general insanity. They say God got distracted while creating this place, and the wind ran off, out of control.

Years ago, when I talked to Jane Hollister Wheelwright, she remembered sleeping on the porch of the big house: "It was a wind tunnel," she said, and in case that wasn't enough to guarantee that you didn't get any sleep, the rats would scurry between two boards and rattle them all night.It's still beautiful...bright blue-sky days, the grasses rippling, leafy branches waving as though in celebration.

But it's definitely weather, the kind of weather that has you thinking twice before you go outdoors for a bike ride or a walk or even a putter in the garden.

Also, we did some serious weed-whacking and brush-clearing several days ago in conformance with local fire department regulations, so now each gust carries swirling remnants of grass and twigs, depositing them on the deck and walkways. A trashy kind of chaos seems to reign.

It ultimately makes me feel vaguely irritated, a little bit on edge, and vulnerable. More vulnerable than usual. There's a metaphorical windstorm in the background of my life as well right now...another squall in the nightmare voyage I have several times alluded to since October, when that tragedy was unleashed.

What can I do? It has its own trajectory. We're all of us in our little boats, I guess, tossed about by wind and whim. I'm grateful for the voices of friendship I can still discern above the clamor, and the clear notes of that canyon wren I heard again moments ago, and the steadying arm of someone I love who has stayed with me all these years.