Wind through the trees

From our back deck, when the leaves are off, I can see the St. Olaf wind turbine.  Now that we're having some mild weather I have sat out there to do my reading, mostly Emerson and Thoreau of late.  As I read these two on nature, I see the trees, Heath Creek down the steep bank, and birds.  I recall Thoreau's observation that he has caged himself in the bird's home rather than caging them in his.  And I ponder his comments on the train that he could hear as it passed nearby wondering how he might respond to the wind turbine that I see through the bare tree branches.  Is this another way to bend nature to our desires?  Might we do better to just reduce our need for electricity by sleeping when the sun is down and being satisfied to write with a pencil such as made in his family's factory?


I'm always torn when reading these works, torn between admiration for the seeming purity and perfection of intention and my skepticism about both the authors and the possibility of such direct contact with the universe and moral excellence.  There seems to be a whiff of privilege in the possibility that one could abandon responsibility for deliberate life in the woods or brush aside the obligations of social relationships in favor being a majority of one.