Milling About

Windmill at my old home along the Platte River near Lexington, Nebraska.

As a child I recall the sound of the whirling windmill on our farm, driving the pump shaft up and down to draw water from the ground into a large round metal tank for the dairy cattle. But it was more than just an essential farm fixture, it was a place of imagination and adventure.

We would often climb part way up to scout the area for Indians and outlaws, and in the winter leap from the lower braces into snowdrifts below. When we had cattle, we would release the brake to let wind pump water into the tank. More than once we refreshed ourselves its cool water after a hike along the river woods.

When the cows were sold, the brake on the windmill was set and hence it has stood stoically for decades, enduring storms, winters, and summer’s heat. Little worse for the wear, it continues as sentinel over the plains and a companion to sunflowers.

Published by eskildoodle1

Retired physician with interests in writing, photography, music, and astronomy. I have written multiple stories of life experiences, travel, and astronomy, and have been playing the ukulele for 10 years. My wife Fairy and I travel frequently to the Pacific Islands of Hawaii, and French Polynesia, and I have learned several of their native-language songs. This blog will be a forum to share experiences with family and friends.

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