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The first time I encountered a wind farm was in California a few years ago. My first impression was Salvador Dali had slipped something in my coffee on the way inland. I was positively freaked out by the otherwordly fanscape.
But I'm better now, thank you. I got over it even as the car passed through the I began to sense the possibilities. Yes, even the possibility that some large birds could get nailed by the quiet, slow-moving blades. Probably not nearly as many as are taken out by avian COPD our outright poisoned by our vast, ongoing industrial fart, but a few. Very few. OK, I'm a monster. Still, somehow the notion of these passive, quiet, eminently simple machines supporting a portion of our energy needs began to appeal to me more and more, dead birds and blighted views (gimme a freakin' break!) notwithstanding.
The thing works. When one considers the incredibly vast amount of undeveloped land in the nation and the relative unobtrusiveness of the wind turbine (as opposed, say, to oil derricks or coal mines or timber taking operations) they become quite lovely to me. As a part of a comprehensive package of alternative energy sources, they could make an enormous contribution and even add a welcome touch surrealism to the landscape which, if left to the Nova Mob, will be under water or turned to desert anyway by the time our grandchildren are big enough to don their breathing apparatus to go outside.
As for Cape Cod, it figures.
