Learning the Wind.

 

Learning the Wind, or learning from the wind?

It’s a strange and fascinating thing—how life can change a person. But it only happens if you’re willing to learn. Really learn. The kind of learning that doesn’t come from books or podcasts or a Pinterest quote, but from living. From the stuff you stub your toe on.

I’ve always been quite aware. Visually sharp—I don’t miss a thing when I’m driving or walking. And emotionally too. Maybe it’s a bit spiritual, but I sense things: people’s moods, their energy, the quiet sadness behind polite smiles.

But I was never the sort of person who’d notice that June feels different this year. There are people—weather sages of the platteland—who can tell you which month got the most rain in 1997 and how the wind has shifted over decades. I was not one of them.

And direction? Don’t get me started. North, South, East, West—just abstract concepts on a map, as far as I was concerned. I knew how to draw a compass rose, and that’s where my navigational talents peaked. I told myself I was too stupid to understand all that. Why bother? The sun rises, the sun sets. That’s enough. I never cared where it did those things. I just liked that it did.

Until… I became a nomad living in a caravan.

Let me tell you, a caravan doesn’t care about your lack of directional knowledge. It will rattle and groan and flap its tent-flaps off if you don’t learn where the wind is coming from.

In a matter of days, I’ve become the kind of woman who knows where North-West is—and why I should be worried about it. I’ve downloaded apps like Windy, I’ve learned how to reposition the van to shelter from gusts, and I now know that if I park just right, I’ll catch the sunrise each morning like a gift.

Last night we had gusts up to 74 km/h. I clung to the tent poles like a wind-blown scarecrow, sleep-deprived and slightly hysterical. I placed a desperate Takealot order at 2 a.m. for storm nets and a tarpaulin—things fellow campers had gently suggested I get before the skies went feral. But hey, some of us need to feel the gale to believe it.

Now, I watch my Windy app like a hawk. I inspect tent ropes with the precision of a military drill sergeant. We’re praying the storm gear arrives before the next forecasted gust—95 km/h, apparently. I’d laugh, but I’m still holding onto the ropes.

Still, like I said in a previous post—whether you’re a newbie or an old hand, with a shiny van or one patched up with duct tape—the wind will find you.

P.S.: I always thought “tying the knot” meant marriage. Turns out, it also means surviving a campsite windstorm at 2 a.m. with your dignity (barely) intact.