In the town where I grew up we have windmills. Quite a few of them as a matter of fact. Naturally I was accustomed to seeing them and rarely gave them thought. Having moved from this town the mills were out of sight, out of mind, for a while. Then exciting news that that one of the mills was being restored to working condition. I had been inside this particular mill many times but never had I seen it run. My parents told of it running when they were young, but only for show, grinding a small amount of meal to sell to the tourists. Yesterday a friend posted a short video of this mill being test run. Apparently this saturday, October the 26th, is windmill day. I never heard of that, but it sounds wonderful.
As I watched this video of the arms slowly turning round and round I began to think about what it must be like inside the mill. As I said, it was always static when I was in there, but now it is moving. Oh how the wood must creak and groan, the stones slowly grinding away on the grain. I can imagine those sounds and the dust that must be created. Surely it would be similar to the sounds of a ship under sail. It was always rather dark in there and in the summer the heat was stifling. I had heard stories of a man being struck by the arm of the mill and leaving him with a crooked neck. Watching those arms turn I can see the danger there. I am left thinking those sights and sounds are not familiar ones to the people now, but once was as familiar as the sunshine. Perhaps old souls will be stirred up along with the ancient dust. A man named Nathaniel Dominy was the builder of this mill and surely his soul rests easy knowing how fondly his work is appreciated. Truly a lasting tribute.
My thoughts began to wander to other sights and sounds that have become unfamiliar. Foremost was the smell of a wooden boat. After a boat has been in the water awhile and the bilge has become seasoned it has a smell like no other. It is a smell I can sometimes bring to the surface of my mind, but as the years go by, it becomes ever more elusive. Remember the sound of the needle when it reached the end of the record ? Coffee perking in the pot. For me, I no longer hear the sound of the whippoorwill in the wood and the surf reaching the shore. Who remembers the dull thud of a window weight ? The slamming of a screen door. All those sounds in the background unnoticed, until they are gone. The slosh ,slosh sound of an old washing machine. I recall seeing children playing marbles and jacks, putting on their skates. The key going around their neck on a string. Who remembers hearing, " Olly Olly Oxen Free " ?
Sights can be painted,drawn,photographed and described in detail. Smells are something different. They exist only in our minds. They can not be captured easily. A facsimile can be bottled but that is about it. But a smell ,once identified by yourself, remains that way in your memory. No matter the length of time that has passed it remains familiar. With thought it can be recalled as well. If I say leaves burning in the fall, you most likely know that smell. Or do you ?
As I watched this video of the arms slowly turning round and round I began to think about what it must be like inside the mill. As I said, it was always static when I was in there, but now it is moving. Oh how the wood must creak and groan, the stones slowly grinding away on the grain. I can imagine those sounds and the dust that must be created. Surely it would be similar to the sounds of a ship under sail. It was always rather dark in there and in the summer the heat was stifling. I had heard stories of a man being struck by the arm of the mill and leaving him with a crooked neck. Watching those arms turn I can see the danger there. I am left thinking those sights and sounds are not familiar ones to the people now, but once was as familiar as the sunshine. Perhaps old souls will be stirred up along with the ancient dust. A man named Nathaniel Dominy was the builder of this mill and surely his soul rests easy knowing how fondly his work is appreciated. Truly a lasting tribute.
My thoughts began to wander to other sights and sounds that have become unfamiliar. Foremost was the smell of a wooden boat. After a boat has been in the water awhile and the bilge has become seasoned it has a smell like no other. It is a smell I can sometimes bring to the surface of my mind, but as the years go by, it becomes ever more elusive. Remember the sound of the needle when it reached the end of the record ? Coffee perking in the pot. For me, I no longer hear the sound of the whippoorwill in the wood and the surf reaching the shore. Who remembers the dull thud of a window weight ? The slamming of a screen door. All those sounds in the background unnoticed, until they are gone. The slosh ,slosh sound of an old washing machine. I recall seeing children playing marbles and jacks, putting on their skates. The key going around their neck on a string. Who remembers hearing, " Olly Olly Oxen Free " ?
Sights can be painted,drawn,photographed and described in detail. Smells are something different. They exist only in our minds. They can not be captured easily. A facsimile can be bottled but that is about it. But a smell ,once identified by yourself, remains that way in your memory. No matter the length of time that has passed it remains familiar. With thought it can be recalled as well. If I say leaves burning in the fall, you most likely know that smell. Or do you ?
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