The sounds of Waitsburg

Within a week of my move to Waitsburg, construction started on my house. My ears were bombarded with drills, hammers, compressors, nail guns, saws and lots of cursing. About two weeks ago, construction slowed down for a short time. The silence was deafening, much appreciated, albeit too short.

The first few nights I spent in Waitsburg the silence was so eerie I had to keep the TV on to fall asleep. It was winter and I swear I could hear the snow falling, and icicles forming. It was culture shock, for sure.

When I was in Los Angeles, I played tennis at a club in the Hills; we had deer, one owl that moved from court to court and only "hooted" when you were ready to serve. We had coyotes with blood curdling howls when they caught their prey and bats that flew over the courts en masse. Coming down the one- mile trip from the Hills to the main freeway there were the usual urban sounds – ambulance sirens, hovering helicopters, traffic and automobile horns.

Rural sounds, sans construction, have had some familiarity, as well as new and interesting experiences. There have been some surprises, both "music to my ears" and others not so great. I love the sound of the mourning doves cooing in the morning, but do they really have to go on for 45 minutes straight? Evidently, there is a rooster in our neighborhood, but he seems to have a defective timer. He is quiet all morning, but in the afternoon, he cock-a-doodle-doos at least once every hour.

The woodpecker, definitely not something we hear in Los Angeles, scares me a little. I'm not sure what trees he inhabits, but I just hope he doesn't fell a tree onto my house. Easter Sunday, Daniel and I were sitting on our deck, enjoying a glass of wine and a competitive scrabble game, when we simultaneously looked at each other incredulously. Did we just hear a lamb bleating? Yep, we did!

Sunday mornings, I have learned to expect a concert of lawn mowers, and edgers. It's uncanny, not a sound from the birds, just the humming of the mowers. Oddly, I've grown to appreciate this sound because it means its spring, and there is grass growing not snow and ice. So, mow away!

Lately, I've been hearing a lot of bikes, scooters, and kids playing, which is great. Not a usual sound in Los Angeles, but one I grew up with. It's a reminder of the time I spent riding around the neighborhood on my bike. Such independence. Little did I know that there was a consort of mothers who always had their eye out for all of us. They were a better network of spies than the CIA or drones. There were times I thought my mother had special powers to know that three blocks away, I fell off my bike because I was doing something I shouldn't have been.

I'm adjusting to the quiet nights, and I certainly don't miss the constant freeway noise. Also, I'm beginning to enjoy the thunderstorms. Admittedly, the first thunderstorm I experienced here was unnerving. The big clap of thunder sent me into earthquake mode. Ducking under the table, I nearly broke my leg when I tripped over unpacked boxes.

Every now and then there is a cacophony of dogs barking, and even my dog Mugsy looks at me, as though asking, "Why?" But the best new sound is the symphony of snoring I hear at night; Daniel and Mugsy, together. Sometimes they harmonize, other times it's a rondo, then a few minutes of silence until the next round. They snore, I hear the woodpecker, then I sleep.