Where the wind comes sweepin' down the plains

[okieinexile]

Where the wind comes sweepin' down the plains
By Bobby Neal Winters

Since I can remember, I've believed that God spends his springs in Oklahoma. If you ignore the occasional tornado, May is the time of year the weather is most pleasant there. I also think the wind in Oklahoma this time of year, is a sign of God's presence. There is ample Biblical evidence that God is a god that uses wind in a special way. In Genesis, Adam came to life when God breathed into his nostrils, God parted the Red Sea with wind, and in Acts the Holy Spirit came amidst wind and fire.

Native Okies like myself have a natural lean when they walk because of having grown up walking into the wind. Sometimes, in the absence of wind, we'll just fall on over onto our faces because we are leaning into wind that isn't there. Wind is part of our very makeup. Before the advent of air-conditioners, the ideal summer day was spent out under the shade trees where we could catch a good breeze. If you were outside, people felt a lot more comfortable to come and sit with you to talk a spell.

When the air-conditioners came along, people began sitting inside more, and folks are more reluctant to invade your home than they are your yard. Some folks like it better that way, holed up with their inner voices silenced by the buzz of the air-conditioner and the blare of the TV, not out under the trees where they can hear God's conversation.

I took the family down to visit my mother on Mother's Day. The trip is always one that goes backwards in time. We are always greeted by our memories.

The warm air of May excites the natural scent of the honeysuckle, and it roams around the country seeking nostrils out. It enters our minivan and our minds. Bee, human, or machine, it doesn't care, so wild it is in its promiscuity.

The wind carries it to far places. It found us drew us on to mother's house. It drew me home.

My brother and I had originally planned a picnic for Momma in the park, but as they were having gradation at the university that weekend, we thought the park would be crowded with the proud families of graduates, so brother borrowed a table from the local Baptist Church and set it up under the trees at Mom's house. There are huge post oaks in her yard, and the breeze loves their leaves. The wind catches itself in the branches and makes them speak.

We sat down at noon with fried chicken. What else would you eat on a picnic?

Someone said to my brother, "Jerry, bless the food so we can eat."

My brother said, "You do it, Dave."

Dave is my father's twin brother and at 86 years of age, he is the oldest member of the clan.

He began, "Dear Lord, bless this food before us today." And a gust blew through the trees and across the table. Nothing was disturbed, but the job of blessing was done.

I looked across the lawn as the shadows of the clouds ran across the ground pursuing one another.

My wife and I took a walk up the road later that afternoon. We walked past my mother's neighbors who have horses. The scent of the ever-present honeysuckle was now joined by that of horse manure. The two did not complete, but complemented one another, as each is piece of what home smells like.

We walked down the road into a hollow. At the top of the hollow, the wind was speaking to a cottonwood, which made a happy sound in return, but lower down the combined sound of the oaks, the elms, and the bois d'arcs made a scary sort of moan, the sort of sound that makes children pull the covers up over their chests in the night no matter how hot it is.

Later that afternoon, my brother and I sat in canvass chairs under a cedar tree that was planted by my Grampa Sam thirty-five years ago. We talked about politics, God, and the War as the cedar tree swayed back and forth in the breeze. Grampa would have been pleased.