A story from my late grandmother reminds me that the pace of life is intended to change. And those changes should be welcomed.
On the evening of Labor Day, my house was perfectly silent and I took the opportunity to relish the solitude. The skies were mostly overcast and I enjoyed seeing how cloud-filtered light played on the walls of my living room for the first time since I moved in.
My eye was drawn to a framed watercolor painting of a windmill propped on the limestone mantel of my fireplace and it made me smile. I bought the watercolor in 2011 and had it beautifully framed as a present to my maternal grandmother for her 100th birthday. She adored windmills and collected them.
It seemed silly that I had never asked before, but following her centennial birthday, I hung the painting for her and inquired why she so loved windmills. She told me of the hot summer nights of her childhood and the windmill that stood close to her open bedroom window. When she couldn’t sleep, she told me she would focus on the windmill’s “lovely racket,” to lull her to slumber.
I asked how something so noisy helped her sleep and she explained that the clanging cadence of the pump changed with the direction and speed of the wind against the blades of the mill. The sound of the pump meant there was water and with water there is life. The lovely racket was her assurance of life.
I still have the bank statement envelope I snatched from her trash can that day on which to jot down her words. It seemed fitting to revisit that memory on the eve of Labor Day. Over the past few weeks, I have visited with members about the inevitable late summer slow-down, but after the three-day Labor Day weekend, things sort of return to their routine.
Children are back in school and the carefree whims of summer ebb in favor of a more predictable schedule. Vacations and impromptu backyard barbecues are replaced by homework and football games. The sun-drenched days of bountiful peaches, tomatoes and squash give way to pumpkins and gourds. The frenzied influx of visitors slows for a bit before fall festivals kick it back into high gear.
It was in those rare moments of silence that I considered the life-sustaining routine that my grandmother described as such “lovely racket.” The routine serves a valuable purpose, like the live-giving water pumped deep from the ground.
Thinking on a community level, the quiet at the tail-end of summer is our reset. The ability to rest a bit. The opportunity to restore and reset. The time to take stock and get ready for when the wind blows the blades of the mill again at a fevered-pitch. The breathless nights of Indian summer are not to be feared, but embraced as the routine pattern of renewal.
If the weather permits in the morning, I will choose the route for my usual morning walk that takes me by a humble working windmill, standing tall within a grazing pasture. I hope instead my exercise plan will be cancelled due to pouring rain. Either way, I will know it’s all part of the pattern of life. The key is knowing the “lovely racket” will resume and embracing the opportunity for renewal that comes when it is interrupted.
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