The wind comes to our northern shore line after having skipped across miles of ocean. It is a phenomenon that goes on forever, and man has finally realized that it is a continuous cycle – ceaseless – and never ending. It comes to us, then passes over us having whatever effects is does, only to retreat to the seas once again to strengthen herself and then return to this small island once again.

This “wind-voyage” started eons ago and has not found good cause to stop, so it continuous and has become a part of our culture that influenced how we lived in the past - as well as how we live today. It is a circular event without a beginning or end; it just is. Our early homes were built in harmony with this wind, and our trees still bow to her departure, much like they have for centuries. We, as an island, recognize that she has become not only a part of us, but that the wind has also become us.

Yes, Aruba is a place that has enjoyed a centuries old love affair with the wind. You see, the wind has never found resistance here; quite the opposite, it has found a relatively flat place where it could move along undisturbed, losing little momentum or speed. It has moved the oceans to beat against our rocky shorelines, and in the process, making natural formations that dazzle the eye. Ragged bridges and angular mounds are all the work of the wind. Year after year, it has arrived unchecked and undisturbed, salt laden and misty, making plant growth on the North Coast all but impossible. Succulent ground growth seems to be one of the few things that welcome this salty moisture laden wind as a part of their lives.

Inasmuch as the Dutch use the wind for milling their cereals and grains, it should come as no surprise that our early homes used rickety towers with two wooden blades to give dim light and pump wells.
Yes, we have coexisted rather well - Aruba, the wind and the occasional simplistic windmill. Actually, there has never been an intruder or obstacle to mar this odd relationship – until the sentinels arrived.

The large bladed and slow moving sentinels stand watch over a portion of our northern shore line and protect us. They stand vigil, and if they do their job well, they will surely be joined by other sentinels. These tall and imposing soldiers work incessantly to assure our safety against the loss of power. They are our sentinels, to give assurance that “power failure” does not win the war. The massive blades of the sentinels harness the moving wind and convert its forever moving masses into a clean energy. These blades are long, sleek and wonderfully formed with an efficiency that deserves nothing but awe. In a rhythm which never fails to miss a beat, the blades swoosh in perfect circles, while being held fast on the large base. They, the sentinels, are now also becoming acquainted with our wind and understanding what it is to meet perfection. It is a dance - a ballet, or maybe a slow waltz. It is on-going and almost without sound, except for the rhythmic and powerful swooshes that come from each blade.

Young boys often come to play at the feet of these sentinels. They come close on tip toes and put their ears to the base hoping to hear a sound of consequence. Perhaps they listen for the sound of clean energy, or maybe the sound of gears and mechanical things. Who knows what resides in their expectations? However, while the children play, the wind encounters our northern shoreline once again after having skipped across miles of ocean. It is the same phenomenon – yet again – that has gone on forever, but now is greeted by a different face. It is greeted by Aruba’s new sentinels, and man has finally realized that this cycle or loop of ongoing and ceaseless never ending wind is much more of an ally that we imagined.

As Aruba’s sentinels stand rigid - never wavering at their posts - they demand the wind pay an entrance fee by leaving some of the untapped power she holds so close on the blades that turn and turn . Much could be said, or imagined, regarding these sentinels and if they are a thing of beauty or not. In truth, it matters not; for their beauty comes from what they do, and not how they appear. After all, they are sentinels

It comes to us, passes over us having whatever effects is does and then the winds go back to the seas to strengthen themselves so as to return to this small island once again and give us more of the untapped power that she holds close to her