The day dawned cool and overcast. On our way out to the starting point, the sun had crested the horizon, and sunbeams were cascading through the clouds and illuminating the cornfields to the north with an angelic effect not unlike some stained glass windows that I’ve seen in the past.
Dad dropped me off with a promise to meet at a park in Steamboat Rock, Iowa where he’d join me for a couple of miles if we were able to find suitable parking for the truck. As he pulled out of the gravel parking lot with a hearty wave and a shouted farewell, I headed west on a county highway and into the middle of a large wind turbine installation.
Energy Country - Wellsburg, Iowa
It didn’t take long for me to come alongside the nearest wind turbine. I was alone on the blacktop road and could see for miles to both the east and the west. There was not another human or vehicle in sight.
The wind from the west spun the wind turbine with a rhythmic whoooo, whoooo, whooo as one of the three blades peaked at the top in the highest winds driving the other two blades in their seemingly endless circular loop. The sound of the rotating blades had a deep bass tone that you could feel more than hear. In the background, a higher pitched whine revealed the mechanical gearing that was spinning the generator on the top of the tall, white stalk pumping out kilowatts.
I stopped for a moment and just watched as the blades whipped around. Over and over and over again they turned, the turbine whined, and the electrons flowed.
The west wind also brought with it the scent of a hog barn in the distance. It’s a tangy sort of animal scent that I've grown accustomed to during the walk. I wouldn’t say it smells good, but I would say that it smells like the front end of the process that ends with bacon sizzling in a skillet in your kitchen. It also smells a little like money to the hog farmer, I suspect.
I glanced to my right and to my left and tried to count the white painted wind turbines standing above the forest green fields of corn and the kelly green fields of soybeans that stretched as far as the eye could see. It dawned on me that I’ve been calling this area corn country when I probably should have been calling it energy country.
There were at least one hundred turbines delivering megawatts of electricity to the grid. The corn itself is just slow solar array, cooking away in the heat of the Iowa summer sun to be turned into ethanol after the harvest.
The red wing blackbirds and killdeer which have been constant companions for the last several weeks screeched out their warnings as I passed through their territory. The winds spoke through the turbines, and the cornstalks rustled in their rows. I was alone, but it didn’t feel lonely.
After a few moments, I turned back to the west and stepped forward. My foot wasn’t yet one hundred percent, but it felt good. My legs felt strong, and the tension in my shoulders from the pack was starting to come back like an old friend.
Dad was at the designated meeting spot, and he’d found some good parking. We walked together for a couple of miles through energy country until he had to turn back to pick up the truck.
Some people have asked if I get bored walking through “the same” flat country covered in corn and soybeans, but it’s not like that at all. Moving at the pace of walking allows the details….the sights, the sounds, the smells….to come to my attention in a manner that just can’t be replicated while speeding past in a car. Nothing is ever the same, and, for me anyway, it’s an endlessly fascinating and every changing landscape of discovery.
