A voice on the wind can carry far

There is no one on the other end. But these callers have long grown used to that. When you find an old-school phone attached to a tree overlooking Lake Erie, with a sign inviting you to pick it up and call someone, anyone, and let the wind deliver your message, you know there is more than bars of service or signal strength at work here. The only power here is imagination, which, tempered with emotion, fuels everything. It's called Darlene's Wind Phone, and it was installed just over a year ago in Vermilion's Sherod Park, in honor of Jody Booker's mom. Booker said the idea came to her in a conversation with a co-worker. Both were grieving their mothers, and the other woman asked Booker if she'd heard of a wind phone. Booker had not, and started doing research. After a horrific earthquake triggered a tsunami in Japan in 2011 that washed tens of thousand of people out to sea, someone erected an disconnected phone on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Hundreds would line up to speak to their missing loved ones in the weeks following the disaster. News reports and a podcast about it prompted communities around the world to follow suit and people started installing their own "wind phones." These disconnected phones, usually mounted on simple wood board, come with these instructions: Use your imagination. Talk as long as you want. Say whatever you need to. Let the wind deliver your message. Booker's mom died in 2020 of leukemia. "She was the best mom and grandma and she would help anybody with anything," Booker said. "And I thought this is exactly what I need for my mom because she was known for talking on the phone." There was a personal aspect to it, too. Booker worked for a school district for more than 20 years, with her mom rooting her on to do something different. Booker recently landed a different job working in the mayor's office in Vermilion, and even though she "is not great at public speaking" put together a presentation to petition the city's Tree Commission to install the wind phone. She's used it a few times. It's in a private spot on a bluff on the east side of the park, with a beautiful view of the lake. "My mom loved the beach, everything to do with the water," she said. In the winter she puts up a black phone, more utilitarian. It was a second choice, after a cute green model didn't make it after freezing and cracking. She thought for sure it wouldn't make it through the gales of lakefront fury last year, but it came through like a champ. She switches it out in spring to a prettier, cream-colored version, the exact one I remember hanging in my kitchen growing up. Both are rotary dial, and users are invited to dial any number at all. She even made a group page dedicated to Darlene's Wind Phone, for visitors to post their experiences. It is strictly "non-judgmental," it states. Donna Breeding has called a handful of times. She's called her mom, who passed away soon after Booker installed the phone. "My sister was in from Florida and we went to it, just a few days after my mom passed. It was really moving," she said. "It's just a way of saying the words you want to say, but with the physical act of having the phone in your hand. It reminds yourself you're going to get through it." She's taken other family members there, including her 87-year-old aunt, who placed a call. "Let the winds, or the waves, or the clouds take your message to where that person is. If it gives someone comfort, that is a great thing. Lord knows we need plenty of that," Breeding said. It's not just there for grief, Booker said. There are untold messages that go unsaid, for all sorts of reasons: Because there is no one safe to tell. Because of shame. Because you tried to be the bigger person with your ex. Because you don't want to burden your loved ones. Because you swore you'd keep the secret. "There are a lot of people who really suffer because they just don't have anybody to talk to, or they just can't," Booker said. "I just want them to know the phone is there. Something they can use. Let the wind take it away from them." Contact Chronicle-Telegram columnist Rini Jeffers at rinijeffers@gmail.com.