Wind tunnels and other weirdnesses.

I seem to spend my life in proximity to wind tunnels. Minnesota Street is a wind tunnel. It used to be much worse, before the Pheonix Inn was built. It used to be where canopies went to die a horrible, shredded death.

It's a little better now, but still a tunnel. My door flops open with every gust.


Meanwhile, we bought our house in ignorance of the wind factor. Well, the gate in the fence next to the house on the south side was a bit rickety, but I thought nothing of it. A couple of nails and it was solved.

Nope, the gate blew right off it's foundations within a month or two. I rebuilt it, and a month later, it happens again. I just propped it up, nailed it, and put supports on both sides and entered and exited the backyard through the garage.

When we had Mike come and rebuild our steps and decks, we had him fix the gate. I'd envisioned a really cool iron scrollwork gate, but when we saw the prices, I forgot why I wanted that kind of gate. Without my really paying attention, Mike simply rebuilt the fence. I took one look at it, and remembered that I'd wanted the scroll work fence because it would have holes in it for the wind to pass through.

"Don't worry," says Mike. "This is solid, no way it's coming down."

First windstorm of the winter, and it's off it's hinges.

Mike: "That's strange. I would've thought that was impossible." He fixes the fence. Next windstorm, the hole thing blows down.

That's it. "Mike," I say. "It's a windtunnel. Imagine a 200 pound guy running full force at the fence and slamming it with his shoulder."

I tell him to cut holes in the fence, and Linda and him come up with a design that looks nice, and it's held up over the last two years.

But I was noticing just now, the gate seems a little wobbly.