Until a few weeks ago, my experience with windmills consisted only of eating cookies baked in that shape and trying to tap a ball through the ones found on miniature golf courses. But in the flat expanses of the Netherlands countryside, you can almost always see at least one windmill somewhere on the horizon. Jeff and I drove down to visit a friend whose directions ended with "Mine is the white house across from the windmill." Can you imagine having this view every day? In the morning, the white-painted bricks and brightly colored blades emphasize the mill's details. In the late afternoon, the windmill is a massive silhouette, a sturdy cylinder with the grid of the blades partitioning the sky into little squares. This is not just a cliche. It is an icon that, experienced in person exudes strength and a unique sense of place.