Silence, My Old Friend
High on my list of our many blessings is the quiet here. This is, by far, the most peaceful place we've ever lived. Funny, how often quiet is linked with peace. So conversely, what does that tell us about the impact of noise on our souls, our lives?
I first became aware of the extremes of this acoustic continuum when I moved to the cabin on the edge of the Blue Ridge. I traveled the Parkway to my job in a town with a single traffic light. There were no traffic jams, no glaring neon and day-glo facades, no fast-food ugliness in the tiny town. Back at home, none of my neighbors were close enough so that, if they used string trimmers or leaf blowers, I didn't hear it.
I had just moved from a growing town of 20,000 in Carolina. I drove a busy interstate to work in a hospital where there were overhead pages, floor waxing machines, faxes, phones, pagers, sirens. I clearly remember, after several weeks in the cabin, away from all that ambient acoustic assault, I became aware that the way I let myself listen had changed.
I had been protecting myself from jangling, disturbing ugly noise (and visual assaults as well) by raising the threshold of what I allowed myself to attend to, be aware of. I still heard, enough to avoid a speeding teenager or testeronic motorcycle, but I did not listen. The shields were up. But back in the country, after I realiized I was safe from the psychic trauma of unwanted and agitating noise, the protective walls disappeared. Once again I became an active listener, open and eager to hear the last detail in my soundscape. I heard with so much more depth and appreciation, and the world became a richer, more beautiful place.
But I am also a producer of noise, and the countryside is not immune to noise pollution. I have two lawn mowers, a string trimmer, a chain saw, a tiller and a cycle-bar mower. I think about the noise I produce every time I crank one of these. But fortunately, there is only a single occupied home (and that, only a few months a year) within a mile of us. I would not like to be responsible for intruding my noise on a neighbor's placid moments if I could help it.
But what can be done if you do live close enough so that you share your noise with your neighborhood? Here are some resources that can help us think about the value of quiet:
Comments
It occurs to me, also, that I am the victim of excessive noise in more tangible ways than the psycho-emotional. From years of unprotected chainsaw use, I have considerable high-frequency hearing loss in my right ear that could have been prevented if I'd started using earplugs many years ago. Pass this warning along to your kids!
Posted by: fred1st | July 24, 2004 6:44 AM
One of the things I notice about where I live now is the not so much the lack of sound, although there's less in both amount and volume, but rather what I hear instead. Daytime noises are the occasional car, lawn mowers a day or so a week, sometimes cicadas now. Nighttime is when I "hear" the difference between small town Columbiana and urban Kearny - all is silence, truly silence, except for the chirping of the frogs. How long since I heard frogs at night regularly? A long time. I missed it. And it's beautiful to hear now. Somehow I feel the tension unspiraling to their music.
I'm blessed to be in Alabama :).
Posted by: susanna | July 31, 2004 8:52 AM