This morning dawned unseasonably warm and strangely lit, with a strong wind blowing in from the east.
I don’t know about you, but I grew up especially cognizant of east winds. They represent a reversal of order, a wind of change. They come from the wrong direction and leave in the wrong direction, shaking people’s perception of which way is up.
On the eastern coast of the Pacific Ocean, they are almost always warmer than average, an especially weird trait for a wind. Instead of whatever’s next coming in off the water, we get a retread of the mainland – a throwback to yesterday or the day before. You can feel the difference in the way we walk, the way we talk, the way people just feel in an east wind.
The big east winds I remember were on the Oregon coast, in my middle youth. Aside from the hurricane-force (no joke) gales that blew in once a year from the Pacific, the east winds were by far the strongest gusts we felt. All the plants seemed bent backwards on themselves, driven inward by an assault from a direction unguarded. Like the Germans behind the Maginot Line or a mole nestled in a field of the enemy. The sand from the tops of the dunes would get caught unaware and get blown back toward the sea, sometimes catching the eyes or mouth of someone not expecting substance in the wind.
The internet is woefully unhelpful for verification of the universal uneasiness that blows in with an east wind. Wikipedia’s article in particular is inadequate, though most of the early Google hits are for motifs from East Asia in Europe and the Americas, capitalizing on the artful intimation of the former region’s influence on the latter to sell food or furniture or martial arts classes. Even though the shortest route from East to West is over the Pacific Ocean, high atop the tide of the jet stream.
There are, of course, famous manifestations of east winds that have their own reputations, even if no one is doing a great job of capturing the whole phenomenon. The Santa Ana winds, bringing eerie clarity and brash wildfires to the LA basin. Nor’easters, dumping Atlantic-effect snow on New England in blinding quantities. Even the Tonopah Lows my Dad used to describe growing up, bringing snow and quirky weather to Nevada.
Eight years ago, my Dad wrote “Beware the Eastern Gate”. Today, I tell you “Beware the Eastern Wind”. It makes people anxious, and anxious people often do crazy things. May my feelings be less prophetic than my father’s.
