When we lived in the city, we were immune to certain sounds like airplanes, buses and barking dogs [though we knew each dog in the neighborhood and if it was a bark to get back inside or to taunt the person walking with a stroller along the sidewalk outside their territory]. We followed the understood protocol to ignore the sounds of neighbors' voices in their yards, over the fence or on decks that overlooked our yard. The 'click-clack click-clack' of the light rail train sounded like a large clock ticking somewhere down the street, magnified in the winter when the leaves had fallen. The elementary school bordered our back property line, and the squeals and voices of kids on the playground, soccer field or bus stop were part of the sweet blur of city sounds. Even our chickens seemed to chatter in more subdued tones and find their place in the tapestry of sound around our little piece of paradise... the two yard fountains served as soothing vehicles to let the surrounding blend of noises just wash over us. It was never a cacophony of unpleasant sound; it was the way you live in a city when you are part of a great community with wonderful neighbors, a hive of active lives.
Moving to the country created a pleasant opportunity to retrain our listening skills. I grew up in the country in South Georgia on a tobacco farm but have been a city dweller for about four decades, so the transition for me was like seeing old friends after a long time and realizing how much you have missed them. I suddenly was able to recall the homecoming sounds of the whippoorwill, the yelping of the coyote [and being able to decipher the leader of the pack's bark from the rest of the pack's affirmation yelps], the owls... oh, the owls! It is a wonder to hear the parent owls teaching a newbie how to hoot the sound of their species... and during mating season it's a marvel to hear the males wooing the ladies with such serenades!In the city, we could not have birdfeeders because there were too many rodents [think 'rats'] that would hang out under the feeders, smoking discarded cigarette butts, waiting for the seed to fall while taking a break from trying to find a way to the chicken feed! Here, we have bird feeders that attract so many different types of birds, and it is wonderful to sit on the front porch and see how different feathered friends 'negotiate' their way to a feeding station... each with a different sound for friends versus a sound to challenge the glutton who will not let the others take a turn at the feeder.
At the end of the summer, some city friends ventured outside the perimeter for a BBQ and some cool libations at The Plough. As we sat outside in the boxwood garden, one of them asked if we enjoyed 'that deafening chorus' of crickets. Of course, we love the concert. We told them how to differentiate the different songs between the crickets, cicadas and tree frogs. They looked at us as if we had unlocked some mystical portal to becoming 'whisperers' of nature. It's really not a mystical gift at all; it's the simple investment in knowing and listening to your surroundings. With a trained ear, you can learn a lot about the life unfolding and closing all around you, be it early morning when the first birds take flight or at dusk when the bats chase their meals against a backdrop of sounds that rise and fall with the crescendo of noises made by animals that roam their world in the country. It's a great symphony that somehow washes over you... and makes you smile.
No comments:
Post a Comment