A Texas Whirligig Memoir

Jan Seale

June 30, 2024

From the plane window she sees the wind machines,

turbines lined against the sky rising from the patchwork quilt

of Rio Grande farms, giant three-winged toys 

dancing by command or lolling in the Gulf breeze.


And the clank-duhduh-clank of a childhood windmill

eight hundred miles north, still in Texas, this time 

out on the Caprock, comes on her screen.


It’s night and the girl is only half asleep when 

her aunt’s voice comes clear, “George, 

get up and go turn off that windmill!”

It seems the chattering metal of the splayed-out 

pinwheel, so necessary by day for the wash,

the garden, the thirst-slaking of animals

has been left in the ON position. 

Now the night wind has cancelled out 

the summer day and the farmer’s windmill

 has succumbed to a dark insistent charm: 

water happily spilling over the tank,

intent on miring the girl’s swing set below.

Precious water must be saved.

Something must be done.


A small oath bleeps from the bedroom

(the girl knows she is not supposed to hear it).

Bedsprings squeak, boots moan,

and a giant clomps through the hall. The girl knows 

the uncle will bang wide the kitchen door,

march across the yard to the windmill, pull the chain,

magically closing off the water from deep down,

the water no more slopping over the side of the tank.


So the string of memory is threaded, from preparing 

to land on the Texas coast among the giant winged towers,

to lowering 70 years ago to the Texas Panhandle,

a girl listening, listening all the way across Texas,

all the way across time and circumstance,

the wind making itself known on giant rotor blades 

that travel the highways, mount towers, twist—

as it were—in the wind, fulfill their electrical destiny;

the wind skipping across giant Texas to the whirligigs 

huffing icy water from deep aquifers.


And long-ago girls listen to the clank-duhduh-clank,

then, hearing nothing, drift into sleep, knowing 

their swing sets, and they, are safe come morning.


Jan Seale lives in deep South Texas.  She has authored nine poetry volumes as well as books in fiction, nonfiction, and children's literature.  She is the 2012 Texas Poet Laureate.

Previous
Previous

Tilting

Next
Next

The Wind Pump