The Windmills of Your Mind

In those first days when every chimney sprouted a television antenna, people thought the gray aluminum appendages were discordant notes in otherwise pleasant architecture. My grandmother remarked that folks complained about telephone poles when they were new on the scene.  If you think about it, telephone poles are unbeautiful. We’re so used to them we’ve learned to look at the landscape as though they weren’t there.  

Now it’s windmills.  They’re large, sometimes huge, and pretty hard to ignore.  There’s one in Plymouth that stands before the graceful line of the Pine Hills, and it’s not getting good reviews.   I wonder if the Dutch, or for that matter the Cape Codders, ever  thought those early windmills with the canvas sails were a blot on the countryside.  They were necessary and designed for function rather than esthetics.  Perhaps they got in the way of the view. 

I’m taking what may be a minority stand on windmills.  They remind me of modern sculptures moving slowly and gracefully.  I like to think of power coming from the wind, which is going to blow anyway.  I’m pro windmill.

Antique windmills are a popular motif in oil paintings and those that have survived are admired by sightseers.  The tall, fan-like windmills that pump water on the Great Plains are symbolic of rural America and have become the subject of knickknacks sold in gift shops.  Perhaps today’s giant windmills will be thought picturesque, but they’ll have to become scarce first.

We can imagine an era when another power source displaces wind, and the controversial behemoths are one by one dismantled and sold for scrap.  As their number dwindles there’ll be committees of citizens who want to preserve those that are left.  Like lighthouses they’ll be seen as quaint.  Tourists will admire them for their sleek functionality.  Cameras will snap, or whatever cameras do in that future time.