Gone With the Wind Chimes

Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could be ... relatively minor.

“The dandelions are here,” one parishioner announced confidently as he admired the suddenly green grass outside the church after Easter services on Sunday. His observation reminded me that I hadn’t taken time to plant mine yet. I’m often a day late and a dollar short, especially when it comes to yard work.

This is also the season when I start imagining flowers that might make our house stand out from the neighboring yards. While I usually rely on a few volunteer tulips, every spring tempts me to try something new. That enthusiasm, however, is quickly tempered by memories of last year, when the eight tiger lilies I absolutely had to have, and my husband planted on his hands and knees, refused to escape their grassy cages and bloom. Underwhelming, to say the least. And then there was the one that didn’t survive its encounter with the lawnmower, which, depending on who you ask, was either a tragic accident or an act of mercy.

Determined to avoid disappointment this year, I’m focusing on whirly gigs and wind chimes. Less maintenance, fewer dashed expectations. The trip to purchase these wind‑driven garden ornaments, however, was a story in itself.

Choosing a whirly gig turned out to be more complicated than expected. One does not simply pick a whirly gig; one must consider its level of whirl, its dedication to gig‑ing, and whether its particular brand of whimsy leans cheerful or chaotic. I studied confident whirly gigs, hesitant ones, and one overly ambitious model that seemed destined to launch into another dimension. In the end, I chose the one that didn’t try too hard, content to whirl when the wind allowed and behave when it didn’t.

Wind chimes require just the right dings and dongs for good music. (Thanks AI for the illustration)

Choosing a wind chime allowed for more experimentation. I gently clanked pieces together in the aisle, testing dings and dongs like an amateur conductor. Some rang bright and eager; others answered with low, serious dongs. Trying not to draw attention, I listened for balance rather than volume and chose the chime whose sounds seemed willing to cooperate once the wind took over.

Remaining anonymous was easy until I had to carry the wind chimes from the back of the store to the checkout. Walking slowly and barely breathing did nothing to muffle the music that followed me down every aisle. The young man at the register smiled kindly and informed me I would not be receiving a commission for demonstrating the merchandise.

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