Monday, March 30, 1998

Wind of March vents its force as month ends

The way the wind's been blowing, you'd think this was West Texas.

Whatever kind of animal March was when it arrived, it's not going out like a lamb. It's the kind of wind that seems to blow from every which way, and these last few days, sober Abilenians have sworn they've seen chunks of Odessa, Lubbock, San Angelo and Fort Worth sail past at one time or another on their way to who knows where.

The mention of swearing is not entirely inappropriate, as local residents have been known to utter a few unkind words as the wind makes doors impossible to open or jerks them from our hands, destroys hairdos, exposes undergarments, overturns garbage Dumpsters, makes an unamusing adventure of washing cars or painting houses or spraying weeds, renders ordinary ambulation risky for those of less substantial weight, threatens businessmen with strangulation by necktie, leaves air travelers shaken for days, sends trucks weaving and wobbling. Hats are snatched and flung. The simple act of raising and lowering the flag can turn into a wrestling match. Live downwind of a pig farm, and you're in serious trouble. Blowing in the wind, indeed.

But after all, March - named after Mars, the ancient god of war - is the official Windy Month of the Year. Perhaps Abilene should sue Chicago for the right to be known as the Windy City, especially considering Chicago's epithet was earned not for its wind but for the excessive boasting of promoters for the big exposition held there back in 1893.

Maybe we could call ourselves the "Really Windy City." Maybe "Windy Country" would be a more fitting name than Big Country.

Wind Festival blown out

Once Abilene had its own annual Wind Festival - in March, of course - much as the ancients celebrated and sought to appease those mysterious forces that held them at their mercy. It had to be moved to September, however, because it was too windy in March to do anything outdoors. With the wind in September not being much gentler, the whole idea was eventually scrapped, leaving our tormentor - unseen but hardly unfelt - free rein to move us at its will.

Folks at the National Weather Service insist the wind is a good thing, that it picks up and disperses pollutants that stay suspended and trapped in places where there's less wind. Tell that to allergy sufferers around here. And to the guys who fight the range fires made more dangerous by propelling winds. At least we've had enough rain this year to reduce the chance of a genuine, old-fashioned, turn-the-sky-brown dust storm.

As we say goodbye to March and hello to April, we'll keep cursing the wind and wishing it would stop, and we might occasionally be heard to threaten to move somewhere else to escape it. But finally, though, it's our wind, and we're proud of it. It's a big part of who we are as a community. Despite this area's diverse population, we're all alike in having to submit to the wind's relentless tyranny.

It's one of the things that makes us special - one of the key elements that defines the Big Country and pulls together this sprawling region into a coherent sense of place.

If, that is, we can keep the place tied down.