Bernoulli's Principle at work in Silver City

The Spring winds are really blowing and I’m beginning to get the feeling that these breezes hang around for awhile at this time of year. I’ve experienced brief periods of high winds in the past; after all, we had 50-75 foot trees blow down in our yard in Clarksburg. But I’ve never lived in an environment where the winds are sustained as they have been here. How windy is it, you may ask?

The wind has been blowing so consistently across my ears when I’m walking Nutmeg on the streets in the neighborhood that I don’t hear the cars coming. Scary on streets that rise and fall across ridges and bend around curves. Sounds carry a great distance here normally and I rely on the sound of approaching cars and trucks to drag Nutmeg off the street and onto the edge. She seems to think the middle of the street is the perfect place to plop down and scratch. The calls haven’t been too close so far, but let’s not push my luck, ya ol’ blowhard!
And speaking of ears, the wind is blowing so that Nutmeg’s laborabor-ear flaps lift straight out! Dumbo had to flap his ears in order to fly but he wasn’t headed into a 45 mph headwind. I’m expecting lift-off if we get 5 more mph up on that one high ridge we cross every morning. Thus the reference to Bernoulli’s principle of flight as illustrated by this wonderful little YouTube demo.
Our friend and his motorcycle gang, er, group, were riding home from a weekend trip – they came home early because of the high winds – with throttles wide open and barely moving. He rides a cycle that would do over 100 mph at comparable throttle on a still day. All because they were riding directly into the gale.
A local amateur weather station registered 70 mph one day last week. Granted that was on a high ridge to the south-east of town where there is little to break the winds between there and Mexico. But still.

Last Saturday was the first weekend of April and as such, was planned to offer up a number of outdoor activities. For example, the first-of-the-season outdoor Art Mart. But it was so blow-y that only one booth was set up; she was selling pottery, so maybe she figured she had the weight to stick close to the ground. Then, there was a shoot-out at Yankee and Texas Streets in the heart of the Art Gallery district. No, do not think shoot-out at the OK Corral—Tombstone is in Arizona, after all. The action was billed as hysterical, not historical, family fun. A bunch of buckaroos – grown-up ones, to be sure – dressed up in black dusters, cowboy boots, black hats (not a good white-hatted one amongst ‘em) and fired blanks at each other across the disputed intersection. Finally they exhausted the hail of virtual bullets and called for good guys over here, and bad guys over there, and any and all kids to pick a side. Then they brought out buckets of water balloons and had at it! Don’t believe for a minute that they did this to attract tourists…nope, entirely personal exhibitionism disguised as neighborly entertainment! This thrilling street theatre was repeated on the hour from noon to 2, and then the street musicians set up for the rest of the afternoon. I saw one shoot-out, which lasted about 10 minutes, long enough to entertain those who expected the disruption and frustrate a couple of vehicles that got caught between rounds of bullets and balloons. I didn’t hang around for the musicians or the evening’s street dance. There were too many competing activities. I already had tickets for the Saturday evening performance of Fiddler on the Roof.

Fiddler proved to be another small-town delight. Tevya was terrific—our own Topol. Maybe not quite ready for Broadway or Hollywood, but can’t imagine finding a better Rich Man (check it out – not what you’d think!) The rest of the cast was spotty in talent, but definitely full-out in performance enthusiasm. I enjoyed every minute – still humming the tunes.

Highlight of the day—
Had to stop twice today just coming up Cottonwood from the store. The first time: a roadrunner crossing the road (no bad jokes, please). The second time, a parade of Gambell quail with their little topknots leading their way. One after the other -- some hustling and some shy, standing on the edge while the car idled as non-threateningly as a big grey Volvo can idle, then finally getting up the courage to race across after their braver brothers. Five, there were.

Nick comes home Sunday. Gone too long. Will I recognize him? Not a doubt…