12 meters per second=25 miles per hour.
The mountain ridge on which the farm sits causes the winds to rush at speeds that have made the length of the ridge a choice spot for wind turbines. That is a good thing, of course, using wind energy. However, the wind also wakes me up.
Our solidly built house handles the fierce winds well, despite trembling at times when a strong gust hits. But of late, a small sound, an annoying "double glup" sound has been heard, with frequency at night. Daylight offers no hint of what may be making this noise. I have been up on the roof numerous times looking for the source of this rhythmic double glup, to no avail.
So here I sit, at 4 in the morning, under dark skies with the winds blowing wildly outside, I am powerless to do anything but wait. And this is farming. It is not that I am awakened by the double glup, it is annoying, but I can sleep many hours with it sounding. What makes the glup relevant and distressing, is that I have no power to prevent it, control it or resolve it. That is farming when nature throws herself at you. As one small human in the face of the dark howling, there is little recourse or meaningful action.
Perhaps this isn't farming, exclusively. The world seems at times a mad place, and we feel powerless to affect it in any meaningful way. The winds of war rage, the howling of the madding crowds resound, the climatic consequences of our way of life bay at the door like a pack of hungry wolves. Our homes and apartments seem flimsy in the teeth of this awful wind. It causes us to wake, to wander out of our safe beds and to aimlessly meander the hours away until light can bring us some small respite from the darkness and the rising roar of the winds. So what is a farmer to do? Where no technique or practice can guarantee outcome, we must do what the animals do. We must hunker down, stay in place, keep our heads covered and we must wait for dawn.
The mountain ridge on which the farm sits causes the winds to rush at speeds that have made the length of the ridge a choice spot for wind turbines. That is a good thing, of course, using wind energy. However, the wind also wakes me up.
Our solidly built house handles the fierce winds well, despite trembling at times when a strong gust hits. But of late, a small sound, an annoying "double glup" sound has been heard, with frequency at night. Daylight offers no hint of what may be making this noise. I have been up on the roof numerous times looking for the source of this rhythmic double glup, to no avail.
So here I sit, at 4 in the morning, under dark skies with the winds blowing wildly outside, I am powerless to do anything but wait. And this is farming. It is not that I am awakened by the double glup, it is annoying, but I can sleep many hours with it sounding. What makes the glup relevant and distressing, is that I have no power to prevent it, control it or resolve it. That is farming when nature throws herself at you. As one small human in the face of the dark howling, there is little recourse or meaningful action.
Perhaps this isn't farming, exclusively. The world seems at times a mad place, and we feel powerless to affect it in any meaningful way. The winds of war rage, the howling of the madding crowds resound, the climatic consequences of our way of life bay at the door like a pack of hungry wolves. Our homes and apartments seem flimsy in the teeth of this awful wind. It causes us to wake, to wander out of our safe beds and to aimlessly meander the hours away until light can bring us some small respite from the darkness and the rising roar of the winds. So what is a farmer to do? Where no technique or practice can guarantee outcome, we must do what the animals do. We must hunker down, stay in place, keep our heads covered and we must wait for dawn.
