My Morning Commute - The Dark

My commuting observations have changed in recent weeks.  When I leave at 6 a.m., and when I’m returning 11 hours, later it is dark.  I can’t see my raptors soaring.  I can’t see the bend of the earth on the treeless horizon.  I can’t see farmers in their fields or the green wheat sprouting up in staggeringly straight rows.  I can only see as far as my headlights will allow.

Moonlight behind the clouds.  Wind turbine not really visible.

This blanket of darkness sometimes feels oppressive and confining.  It is especially nerve-wracking when rain, freezing fog, or other adverse weather conditions are present. I don’t think I’m a fan of the dark.  A whole week had passed before I was home during daylight and realized that the leaves were literally 4 inches deep in the yard.

If I am truthful, however, the dark holds it’s own delights.  The full moon, partially visible, back lighting thin clouds is surprisingly bright.  The blade of the wind turbines flutter in the moon light to an almost disco effect.  Creatures are still present causing my pulse to quicken whenever they materialize in my headlight beam.

When I pass the halfway point in my travels - either to or from Hood River - the rising and setting suns distract me in my rearview mirror.  One evening, a stunning view of Mt. Hood silhouetted against the autumn sunset, forced me to pull off the road and turn around at the Mountain Viewpoint on 206 just to gaze upon it.  There are definitely delights in my dark travels.  Delightful God moments.

The Morning Commute - Equus caballus

As my car gains speed leaving the confines of Condon, Oregon each morning, I scan the landscape and realize - I really live in The West.  Wide vistas of wheat and treeless land, big sky, wind turbines and horses unfold in front of me.  The West with its ubiquitous symbol of the horse and rider - Native, Latin, or European.  I live here.

The Rietmann - Cook family had us out to their ranch several weekends ago.  Jessica and Frances “fancied” a horseback ride, and with great hospitality and care, Tom, Katie and Benjamin offered to host the event.  They have a number of horses, each with distinct personality traits and behaviors.  Our Portland women were given horses that were manageable and willing.  Tom, mounted on his own beast, led Jess and Frances from field to field as Katie, Tim and I followed them on foot in a general sort of way.

Such vistas from their ranch.  What a sight to see my girls riding horses, already looking comfortable and confident.  Having grown up around horses - neighbors and friends had stables - I love the equus caballus.  My adoration, unfortunately, does not extend to a proficiency in riding, but I was always willing to “mount up” in my younger days.  Sitting on a horse gives one an even more expansive view of the world.  There is indeed something to the idea of the power of horse beneath you and melding your own body and energy into it.  The excursion to the ranch was a grand success topped off with an expansive repast and delightful conversation.

So this is how it is for me. Every morning, during the first hour of my hour-forty-five minute drive, I race past The Rietmann ranch, other wheat fields, turbines, cattle, and horses.  Great beautiful beasts grazing, running, and looking curiously at the funny person who has stopped to take their photograph.  

The morning commute was never like this in the city.

Morning Commute - Wind Turbines

Turbines looming over canyon walls.

Early in my Condon-Hood River traverses, I fell in love with wind turbines.  These massive whirling beasts that each require something like 14 tractor trailer truckloads to assemble, populate the landscape throughout the high desert of Eastern Oregon and the eastern edge of the Gorge.  

Light snow and fog hug The Six early in March 2013

When viewed at just the correct angle, one can see them lined up in their rows: groupings of 4 or 6 or more.  Viewed at a different angle, the multiple sets of turbines look as if they should be colliding, blades slicing at different tempos.  And then there is the view just out of Wasco, heading towards Condon, where wind turbines sprout before you - row after row - endlessly stretching towards the distant horizon.

As Tim and I moved across the country nearly two years ago, we passed many fields of wind turbines in Kansas, Utah, Wyoming and Eastern Oregon.  But in my daily commute, on my two-lane road, I am close to these giants.  They are a mixture of savvy engineering and surprising simplicity.  So many pinwheels planted amidst the wheat. While I am dwarfed by them in my sedan, I view them as sentinels guarding my path.

Spring sunrise light The Six

Near the beginning of my daily commute towards Hood River, there is a grouping of six turbines that never cease to fascinate me.  Whether they are wrapped in fog or gleaming in early morning sunlight, their movement comforts me.  Their rhythm reminds me of the rhythm of the Universe brought to life when the Wind blew across the waters.

Perhaps this is why, on that rare occasion, when the blades are not revolving, I feel jarred, unsettled, anxious.  Just as God rested on the seventh day, the wind in one of the windiest places on earth, gets to rest. Perhaps that is the lesson for me.  Every so often, I too get to rest from my travels, from my work, from my distractions to be still and know God.

All photos by Maggie Sebastian (on her old IPhone)