(Not) Silent Night At The
End of Nowhere
An
acquaintance suggested that I might title this: The Silence of the Clams.
The suggestion, however, leads me to wonder just how much they know about clams
since the bivalves of my acquaintance seem to all go "bloop", "squosh",
"burb", "slurp" or make other rather waterlogged noises as
they siphon seawater for food or expel seawater as they retract to safety or ...
Well, you get the idea, right? So, I'll stick to my original title.
For several reasons, this will be as much
an audio blog as a photo blog; just click on the various images and links for
samples of our not so silent nights here at The End of Nowhere.
People who live in towns and cities almost
inevitably remark on "how quiet it is" ... and, almost as often, ask:
"but isn't it awfully dark at night".
What's hard to explain is that they're
rather off-base in both respects.
Yes, compared to the city, our nights are
dark and, day or night, it tends to be much quieter ... at least in the sense
that we are not inundated by traffic sounds, we don't hear our neighbors' TVs
and boom boxes and, when we do hear a siren, we know that it's Larry, Mo and
Marne going to check on a friend or neighbor ... or even, on one occasion,
answering my own summons. In other words, out here, a siren can be welcome
rather than obtrusive.
But even without these, our nights (and
days) are far from silent. It's just that the noises we hear are
different.
|
|
During the day, for example, it's hard to
step outside without being greeted by "chirping" sounds. No, not
from birds -- although there are plenty of these both day and night and changing
with the seasons -- but from our furry tree denizens and neighbors.
The Townsend's
Chipmunk shown at left is the largest and darkest chipmunk in
Washington and Western Canada (coastal areas).
|
| |
|
| Male elephant seals
are quite vocal
as they challenge competitors while their harems
are also familiar night sounds and even a mother
and pup, exchanging affectionate nuzzles, can be heard for long
distances.
Yes, their voices are just as big as
their mouths ... and quite sonorous.
Now that the days are growing short
again, it's time for the males to gather their harems and the night --
even more than the day -- is a time for constant challenges. And, if
the bulls are too busy to sleep, the "noise" is quite comforting
and we sleep quite well. |
|
| |
|
|
|
Another
example is provided by the Pacific
Chorus Frogs. Now that the rains have started again, these tree dwellers are coming out in full
strength (that is, as in thousands, not dozens or hundreds) to serenade prospective mates.
Note: turn your volume all the way up
and you'll get some approximation of what we hear at night while sitting
in the hot tub. Noisy? Sure! Lovely? You bet!
And these are titled Chorus Frogs
because that's how they sing; in chorus, starting and stopping en mass,
continuing for hours but not singing as individuals, only as a choir.
As for the conductor? Who knows
... but for these natural vocalists, the conductor is probably optional.
|
And, of course, we have a variety of owls
(night) and a changing cast of feathered vocalists during the day. We also
are serenaded -- on occasion -- by less identifiable creatures in the
dusk. (There are also bats ... but they alone are silent neighbors ... at
least in the frequencies which we can hear.)
Oh, yes, I mentioned dark?
Well, yes, we have no street lights (we do
have a neighbor with a yard light but far enough away that it's not obtrusive) and
certainly no neon signs and, as mentioned before, the flashing lights of an
ambulance or fire truck is not so much of an interruption as a reminder that aid is available even here at The End of Nowhere.
But that doesn't mean that the nights are
dark ... certainly not like a dark room in any case. Here, we have stars
... and, absent city lights, we can see them. More, when the mood in full
... or even a few days old ... the night can be quite bright. When the
moon is full, well, it's better than any street light.
So, dark is a relative term and, if the
trees are shadows against a dim sky, they our trees, friendly and comforting.
No, it's not really dark at all ... nor
silent ... and we love it that way.