“Sometimes, on Sundays, I heard the bells, the Lincoln, Acton, Bedford, or Concord bell, when the wind was favorable, a faint, sweet, and, as it were, natural melody, worth importing into the wilderness. At a sufficient distance over the woods this sound acquires a certain vibratory hum, as if the pine needles in the horizon were the strings of a harp which it swept. All sound heard at the greatest possible distance produces one and the same effect, a vibration of the universal lyre, just as the intervening atmosphere makes a distant ridge of earth interesting to our eyes by the azure tint it imparts to it. There came to me in this case a melody which the air had strained, and which had conversed with every leaf and needle of the wood, that portion of the sound which the elements had taken up and modulated and echoed from vale to vale. The echo is, to some extent, an original sound, and therein is the magic and charm of it. It is not merely a repetition of what was worth repeating in the bell, but partly the voice of the wood; the same trivial words and notes sung by a wood-nymph” (Thoreau, Walden, 123)
The concept of “soundscape” refers to the constellation of sounds that emanate from landscapes and reach our ears in a given moment. It is credited to R. Murray Schafer who studied the sounds of various habitats and demonstrated that each soundscape uniquely represents a place and time through the combination of its special blend of voices, whether urban, rural, or natural. Most recently, the emerging field of soundscape ecology has challenged ideas that “seeing is believing” and has provided us with new ways to register the ecological health of habitats and to awaken us to the expressivity and creativity of nature.
The idea of this assignment is to encourage us to pay more attention to the sonic identity and makeup of our environments, to the unique gathering of sounds specific to wherever we happen to live. Pick a particular location in the High Country or near your home that includes both natural and man-made sounds. Go to the location, sit and take note of all the sounds that you hear for 20-30 minutes. Write a short (1 page) analysis of the location’s soundscape, why you chose it, how other people or beings might experience it, what happens there, what makes it unique ecologically. Try to be attentive to the extent to which the soundscape reflects the clash, connection, or overlap of natural and built environments. Consider making a 30 second video/audio recording and/or taking photographs to support the claims that you are making in your analysis.
In your analysis, make sure that you include:
- Location (the street address as close as possible; consider mapping your location and providing the web link in your reflection)
- Specific references to the assigned readings by Thoreau
- The time of the day, season, and date.
- A list of the sounds you heard, e.g. mechanical sounds, biological sounds, geological sounds, unexpected sounds, quiet sounds, loud sounds, slow sounds, fast sounds, ambient sounds, etc. Aim to provide rich description of the sounds themselves, and not just an explanation of what makes the sounds. Before you are tempted to write “I heard cars, birds, or planes”, describe the sound that you heard, and not merely the source of it. Pay close attention to the frequency, pitch, volume, duration, tone, and timbre of the sounds. Reflect on the aural identity, mood, atmosphere or presence of the place. Think about how the layering and mixture of sounds can create a sonic identity as unique as a fingerprint, and how it might shape both the humans and nonhumans that find themselves in such a place.
As you are completing the assignment you might reflect on any of the following questions and themes:
- What kind of sounds are these? What do these sounds say about the place where you heard them?
- What sounds would you describe as the ‘keynote’ sounds? These would be the sounds that, in your experience, contribute most to the acoustic signature of the place. Do you think the acoustics of the location vary over the course of each day or season? How?
- In The Great Animal Orchestra: Finding the Origins of Music in the World’s Wild Places Bernie Krause introduces the term “biophony” to describe the composition of sounds created by living organisms, “geophony” to describe the ambient sounds of wind, rain, thunder, and so on, and “anthrophony” to describe human-generated sounds. Reflect on the distribution of biophony, geophony, and anthrophony in the acoustics of your location. Was any one dominant at the site? Would you describe any of the sounds that you heard as “noise,” “aural litter” or “audible trash?”
- Were you alerted to any sounds that we have usually learned to ignore in our everyday lives? In the context of the profound ecological changes that are taking place on this planet, which of these sounds do we want to encourage, multiply and preserve? Would you identify any of these sounds as harmful or beneficial for ecological well-being?
- Thoreau’s chapter “Sounds” in Walden suggests that music is already an aspect of the environment, which does not need to be translated or represented. He concurs with Krause who encourages us to approach the world as a macrocosmic musical composition. Based upon your listening experience, would you agree or disagree with Thoreau and Krause? Is nature capable of composing music? Is nature a composer? If yes, what difference does it make? Did you register any clearly discernible voices, signatures, or compositions produced by local ecosystems? Did your experience sensitize you to the acoustics of the location as a mode of awareness, as a means of receiving messages from the environment?
Your responses are due by midnight on September 19. In addition to your written reflection, you are encouraged to upload images or/and recordings of the site that you visited.
SD 3800 Voices in Sustainable Development 
I chose a river spot off the Blue Ridge Parkway because I love the sound of flowing water and it’s a spot I travel to often. I couldn’t find a nearby address for the location since it doesn’t have a specific overlook name, but the latitude and longitude of the location is 36.179921, -81.610998. Many people come to this area to go on a short hike, but never really take in the complexity of this environment. Streams are incredibly vital to our ecosystem as it provides a habitat for an abundance of species, as well as filtering our water contributing to the natural water cycle. I am excited for this assignment as I have been to this location multiple times but have never stopped to truly appreciate the sounds around me. Both Henry Thoreau and Rachel Carson describe noises that surround them with great detail, appreciating the uniqueness of their environment. Thoreau describes the extraordinary sounds around his home on page 123 stating, “There came to me in this case a melody which the air had strained, and which had conversed with every leaf and needle of the wood, that portion of the sound which the elements had taken up and modulated and echoed from vale to vale. The echo is, to some extent, an original sound, and therein is the magic and charm of it.” This passage describes the beauty that Thoreau hears from the mix of the man-made bell as well as the noises of the woods. Carson also touches on the idea of sound, explaining that the absence of it can indicate a dying environment. On page 103 she includes a note from a housewife that describes the effects of DDT on her environment in which she claims, “There was not a sound of the song of a bird. It was eerie, terrifying. What was man doing to our perfect and beautiful world?” Sound is an important aspect of our environment that we seldom pay attention to.
During this visit at the location I chose, My first perception of the sounds around me is the river flowing in front of me. It is 4:30 on October 17th, the beginning of Autumn. there is a small waterfall about 4 feet ahead of me where the most noticeable sound is coming from as well as 2 larger waterfalls to my right, about 10 and 20 feet away. The waterfall makes a gurgling sound as it drifts down the rocks in front of me while the more distant waterfalls sound more like static. The waterfall closest to me is higher in pitch compared to the ones more distant that sound lower in pitch. this sound is incredibly calming with constant shhhhh noise. I also hear the crunching of leaves coming from my left as my dog explores the area. The crunch from the leaves sound crisp and very distinct from the river but the rustle is still made me feel a sense of tranquility. In the distance I can hear cars passing on the parkway as the location is right off the road. I notice that I can hear how big the cars are and how fast they’re going, as well as the direction they are coming from just from the sound they emanate. It starts distant and then the pitch slows as it gets closer. Once it passes, the sound becomes distant again in the opposite direction and the pitch speeds up again. The cars sound like a distant hum that goes in and out. I hear a chirp of a bird in the distance at a high pitch. it’s very low volume but reminds me of the sound you would make with your tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth going rolling your rs. the sound is similar to this but a much higher chirp. The sound is very infrequent occurring maybe every 5 or 6 minutes. The constant sound of the river combined with the every now and then leaf crunch, and the occasional car passing by creates a peaceful ambiance as well as a completely unique sound that could not be replicated in any other place. This mixed sound I hear is special because where I am sitting determines how I hear the water flowing over the rocks, as well as how close the area is to the road. In order to recreate the sound I hear, a stream would have to have the exact same rock placement, the same amount of distance away from the road, and at the same time in the season with crisp leaves on the ground which creates the crunching sound. This special combination of sounds overwhelms me with gratitude as I know it is completely unique to me in this exact time and there are so many smaller sounds that contribute to the entirety of what my ears perceive.
Over fall break I visited my grandparent’s lake house in Virginia which sits in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in a cove of Smith Mountain Lake (204 E Beaver Dam Court, Goodview, VA:https://www.google.com/maps/place/204+E+Beaver+Dam+Ct,+Goodview,+VA+24095/@37.1111926,79.7631226,45604m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0x884d155f1be604c3:0x8c58363524a230b4!8m2!3d37.2107636!4d-79.7423729). I sat outside for thirty minutes to listen on October 12 around 4:00 in the afternoon. The most predominant sound that I hear first is the wind. I hear it start from a distance and make its way towards me, getting louder and more intense. The wind isn’t reaching me at ground level, only disturbing the tops of the trees that sway with great force. Sometimes leaves fall from their trees in a chorus of whips and rustles and land in my lap. Sounds of a distant leaf blower starting and stopping, a car starting, I try to accept them as part of the melody but my despise continues. The various songs of birds intermingled, some soft and elongated and others high-pitched and short, sometimes seeming to be having a conversation: maybe a dispute?
I notice the shortage of bird sounds in this wooded area in comparison to the constant chorus of the summer; I guess that autumn is beginning to silence their voices. I wonder whether or not this number of birds is normal for this time of year, are they confused by the wide variance in weather that seems to be a theme around this time of year? We no longer experience a gradual shift from summer to autumn to winter. Summer drags on and seems to pop up whenever she likes and autumn never gets her chance to ease us into the cold winter. On page 103 of Silent Spring, Carson writes, “The sudden silencing of the song of the song of the birds, this obliteration of the color and beauty and interest they lend to our world have come about swiftly, insidiously, and unnoticed by those whose communities are as yet unaffected.” I wonder if there is or will be another gradual silencing happening across the planet due not only to pesticide use but also from climate change.
The squirrels are also active, hopping from tree to tree and screaming at each other, or maybe at the birds. I hear the soft reverberation of the wind chime on the other side of the house, a neighbor is in the road washing his boat: the sound of water hitting metal. His wife’s voice, the man answers in a loud, frustrated yell. This continues for a while. Crickets and other bugs I can’t name chirp every few seconds. A door opens from inside the house, I hear my dog’s nails click on the hardwood, the door closes. The trees creak and groan, the wind is almost constant, but ebbs and intensifies in a crescendo, momentarily wiping away any other noises. I hear no rain but a drop hits my face. While there is constant noise, they weave in and out of each other, no more than 3 or 4 of them finding my ears at the same time.
Sitting is this way was extremely meditative for me, letting myself dissolve into the sounds and be with them completely without any need to be thinking or doing anything but listening. In the beginning of Thoreau’s chapter of, “Sounds,” he says: “…I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while birds sang around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time” (p. 92). Thoreau goes on to further describe his experience with passing time in this way, and it sounds wonderful. “Instead of singing like the birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune. As the sparrow had its trill, sitting on the hickory before my door, so had I my chuckle or suppressed warble which he might hear out of my nest” (p. 93). Nature composes music without even trying. Beauty is its natural state of being and does not care whether someone is listening or not. But we have the privilege of enjoying this music and letting it bring us to a better state of being. Most of us don’t seem to be listening.
Woods near my apartment, App South
October 17th, 2019 at 12:30-1:00 PM. Autumn.
As it is autumn, today is a particularly cold and windy day, with the sound most notable of them all being the high-pitched whistling of the air whipping through the trees. With each forceful slap on the brittle leaves, there is a faint fluttering to be heard as they make their way down to their cold winter grave. The trees that still carry life on their branches make a gentle rustle of sorts, similar to brushing out long locks of hair. The strongest gusts are enough to lift the short metal chain that lives atop a flagpole, emitting a loud and brutal clang! Of all the sounds I hear, the circulating air remains a steady bassline beneath the bustle of the rest of the space around me. The geophony dominates the area, which is a strange irony as it is an instrument often neglected in our active minds. The ambience is a unique visitor, as he is always present, though shifting in form.
Carrying the melody of the space is tasked to the cars speeding by on the road beneath me. Though they are a distance away, the near-constant hum of cylinders firing provides another continual source of sound. Occasionally, my ears encounter a hurried traveler and are greeted by the sharp screeching of rubber on asphalt, giving that small tingle deep within the canal. A sudden encompassing note does not always immediately register as a sound, but rather as a physical feeling that reminds us that we are not alone. These particular sounds can become exhaustive, and in the words of Thoreau, “To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating” (Thoreau, 135).
It seems that all of my neighbors-in-sound have someplace to be, and as I remain still, am a witness to their audial journey. As Thoreau found himself a neighbor to the birds, I am in this moment uncaged and among my own local neighbors, a large population of chipmunks. The paws with which facilitate their adventure, though small, crunch and creak against the cemetery of fallen leaves. They produce a frantic yet swift and calculated collision with the earth, creating a type of furious tapping. These sounds and their creators are a much more welcome guest, and a positive descendant of Carson’s reminder that “in nature nothing exists alone,” (Carson, 51).
There is a layer of anthrophony to be acknowledged as well. The stairs that exist close to my perch are composed of wood, and the footsteps of the busy students are a much heavier, hollow version of the chipmunk tap. The sound most closely resembles what you might hear when taking a stroll down a wooden pier at the beach. The empty space underneath creates a faint echo, filling the air with human sounds, as humans have filled the earth with human objects. The noises that are created by humans are so ubiquitous that we have to almost completely tune them out to maintain sanity. In my space as in the rest of the world, there is the constant murmur of speech, the thick click as a door slams shut, and the muffled shuffle of shifting around material belongings. These can all become overwhelming when they become a point of focus.
As I sit on my front porch, many sounds come to greet my ears. My front porch is located on King St, it is 10:30 a.m., and fall is making its presence. I chose this location because it is my favorite part of my home. During warmer times, my favorite part of the day is drinking coffee, reading books, and listening to the bustle this street always offers. This porch is my peace among the chaos of the town.
The cars pile onto the road and fill the air with the purring of their engines.The sedans sound like the house cats of the road and the trucks scream like lions. This street is never still. Activity abounds at any given moment. The drivers of these cars are playing music. Tidbits of various tunes greet my ears. The only familiar tune is ‘Gypsy’, by Fleetwood Mac. Their music choices give insight to the inhabitants of this land.
“The winds which passed over my dwelling were such as sweep over the ridges of mountains, bearing the broken strains, or celestial parts only, of terrestrial music.” (Thoreau, pg 85). There is a calm wind. I hear it rushing through the air. The leaves on the tree in front of me dance and bang against one another making a gentle yet crisp sound. The mountains stand strong in the distance while man-made activity reaches my doorstep. The music of this landscape are those momentarily inhabiting it. People pass by in the street. I can hear their laughs if they chuckle loud enough. My neighbors walk in front of porch, I can hear them chatter amongst themselves.
Other humans, including Thoreau, may be annoyed with all of the noise that comes from this street. Cars are always buzzing by and people are passing. From the hill my house is located on, I feel completely detached from this activity. I feel as if I am just a spectator watching them go about their days, and having a very seperate day of my own. I live in Boone’s hub of human activity. The humans always let their presence be known and in some ways, I feel less alone.
The location that I chose is along Winkler Creek, behind Publix and adjacent to the Boone community garden. This is a location in my “backyard” near 171 Leola Street. The date is October 16th, 2019, the season is fall and I went out to this location around 2 pm. I chose this place because it’s a place that I go to find peace and relaxation, a little haven of nature set right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of Boone. This also why I see this location as ecologically unique. I see it as representing a sort of spectrum of nature: it is seemingly untouched by man yet set in space that is next to a type of nature dominated by human activity (Publix) as well as a type of nature that has some balance between human artifice and natural artifice (community garden).
Among the sounds I heard, several stood out as ‘keynote’ sounds: the wave-like rustling of leaves as the wind blew; the constant pitter-patter and trickling of the river water running over the rocks; the energetic, non-locatable, constant drone of crickets chattering; and the dull, faint, yet slightly annoying hum of what I would assume is the AC and power units used for Publix. The sound of the water was not uniform but still had a soothing quality and because of this non-uniformity, I almost want to describe the sounds as colorful. The sounds of the crickets, at first went unnoticed, were more uniform with little interruptions of more pronounced and louder ‘chirps’ that had a conversation-like quality to them. This was a constant sound in the environment, that when heard together with the other sounds, resembled a sort of white noise. Similarly, the AC hum also presented a white noise effect, to the point that I almost missed this sound. It seemed like background noise, yet the “aural identity” of it changed when I paid more attention to it; the pitch seemed to grow and increase until it became an annoyance. The rustling of the leaves from the wind, on the other hand, had this intensity and powerful feeling to it and was not always constant. The sound would grow from a faint distant rustling, to a loud cacophony of dancing, chattering leaves, and then slowly die down again. During this assignment it occurred to me that the wind is only heard when it encounters something like the leaves, and that when I thought I was hearing ‘the wind’, I was really hearing the movement of leaves as they encountered an invisible global force.
I would like to consider the occasional, interruptive, and fleeting sound of cars driving by as also part of these ‘keynote’ sounds simply because of the location of the site. However, there was something about these sounds that didn’t always harmonize with the sonic identity of this place. The roaring, rattling, rumbling sound of revved engines, were deep and bass-like compared to the other keynote sounds I have described. The fact that they were fleeting sounds and not constant like the crickets, water, and AC hum, also contributed to this notion of interruption and annoyance, or disharmony. This idea of a fleeting noise resembles Thoreau’s view of car noise as a reminder to the lapse of time, “…the noise of some traveler’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time.” (111). I, too, took notice that sounds emanating from the passing cars implied some sort of motion or movement through time, as you could hear the engines coming, growing louder, bolder, and then going, growing quieter and softer, “I hear the muffled tone of their engine bell from out the fog bank of their chilled breath, which announces that the cars are coming.” (Thoreau 119). What’s interesting though, is that the sound of the leaves rustling was also not constant yet it did not portray a sense of disconnect like the car sounds did. I believe this is because of the differing qualities of the two sounds. The sounds of the leaves rustling were intense but not overpowering, while the sounds of the cars were perhaps too powerful. I imagine that others who find themselves in this spot would take notice of this too and perhaps it would speak to man’s dominance over nature in a capitalist society.
Other sounds that I heard: construction work signified by a constant, low toned, beeping, low in volume and did not last but several minutes; an airplane that sounded like a long, stretched out moan across the sky, that created a feeling of extension, or mergence with the surrounding air; a gunshot or possibly a nail gun that was abrupt, loud, deep, echoed and carried vibrations across the air; and tires screeching at a high pitch, loud volume that created the notion of something shaking. I did also hear some birds chirping, though they were few and far between. These chirps were high pitched, short and abrupt, low in volume, and sometimes sounded like a squeak. I almost want to describe them as bland because there was not what Rachel Carson describes as “…chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices…” (2). I could only make out one “bird voice” that was often overpowered by other noises.
The general mood of this area was calmness. The presence of this place, partly formed by sounds, portrays a location in fluctuation, or motion. I think the sonic identity of this place might shape humans in this area to appreciate the movement and persistence of some natural processes, like the way the water flows. This appreciation for natural flows of material and energy reminds me of the way Rachel Carson illustrated how DDT seeps into the environment and affects Robins, “Powerful sprayers direct a stream of poison to all parts of the tallest trees…The poison forms a tenacious film over the leaves…rain does not wash it away…In the autumn the leaves fall to the ground… begin the slow process of becoming one with the soil. In this they are aided by the toil of the earthworms, who feed in the leaf litter…In feeding on the leaves the worms also swallow the insecticide…In the spring the Robins return to provide another link in the cycle.” (107-108). I think this place might also instill the idea that some human activities are disruptive, not only physically but acoustically, while others are not. Non-humans in the area may be startled by the intrusive, loud noises of human activity that penetrate the area, while finding peace and refuge in sounds that are more constant and represent the natural processes of the area.
The location I choose was my beach house, 4804 North Ocean Blvd, Myrtle Beach. I went there over fall break and thought it would be the perfect location because the sounds at the beach has always been so calming for me. Thoreau talks about how it’s important to not just observe but also to listen and constantly be alert and open to our surroundings. He says, “No method nor discipline can supersede the necessity of being forever on the alert” (Thoreau, pg. 111). I choose the morning of October 12th, I went out around 9am to do my morning yoga and meditation. When I meditate my eyes are always closed and doing this allows me to become very alert of my surroundings without seeing. The sound that stood out to me first was the sound of the sea, the waves crashing on the shore and then rolling back to come again. It sounds powerful and intimidating, like even though I am sitting about 15 feet away, it sounds like the waves are going to reach me and pull me in. The next sound that grabbed my attention was the wind, I could hear the beach grass blowing on the sand dunes, it is a very faint sound but the way they rub against each other in the wind creates this soothing whisper. It was a soothing sound that came in waves as the wind blew. This made me think about all the species that call the dunes home and their hidden silent relation to this environment. The wind was pretty strong that day and if you listened closely you could hear the dry sand blowing across the beach. When I meditate I sit directly on the ground with nothing under me, I feel more connected to the earth this way and as I dug my feet into the wetter sand in front of me it almost makes a squeaking sound. Then I noticed a sound that was missing. Whenever I am at the beach during summer I always hear the screams of the seagulls as the hope I will throw them one of my chips. I didn’t hear them this time but my ears were expecting it. I don’t know if it was because they migrate somewhere else this time of year or because it was too early, but I found myself missing the sound of the bird that I often found a bit annoying. I found myself thinking about Silent Spring, wondering where they had gone and wishing for their songs. Carson said, “The early mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with the beauty of bird song”(Carson, pg.103). I’m not sure where they went but I can’t help but notice and wonder. A sound that I didn’t think I would notice but did a few times where sounds from the road on the other side of the house. Our house is right in between the road and the beach with not much space separating them. The only sound I could hear from the road was the sound of a car horn once or twice. This made me think of when Thoreau talked about the railroad, “The Fitchburg Railroad touches the pond about a hundred rods south of where I dwell” (Thoreau, pg. 115). The sound of the train was a reminder for him that civilization was not too far away, while the sound of the train was refreshing for him, he didn’t like the sound, smoke and steam that came with it. When I heard the sound of cars it took me out of my serenity and reminded me of the priorities of man. The car horn so close to the beach highlighted our want for instant gratification and for things to be so easily accessible. The sound was alarming and made me wish that houses and hotels weren’t allowed to be right on the other side of the dunes. After this I wasn’t able to focus anymore and was just thinking about how the beach was a place that made me feel calm, connected and in a weird way powerful. Then I started to think about how other people experience the beach and how different it can be. I know some people just see the ocean as a salt pool filled with dangerous creatures. Some people don’t even pay attention to the sound of the waves and appreciate how powerful they actually are. Others don’t even want to go because they hate the sand and they way it sticks to you and gets on everything. A lot of people would be happy if the beach didn’t have seagulls, so they didn’t have to hear their sound or worry about them bothering them. I feel like the beach is their home and they have to watch countless tourists litter and disrespect that land. I love the beach and closing my eyes and just listening I was able to focus on my favorite parts. I didn’t have to see the litter or the mass amounts of people and the mixture of sounds reminded me why it is so important to protect it for humans and nonhumans.
Today on this brisk fall evening; October 18th 2019 I decided to take a seat at Stickboy bakery located at 345 Hardin street right across from Appalachian State University’s campus. This is a location that I pass everyday, but I have never set aside the time to sit down and take in the environment that this storefront harbors. As the sun is setting the bakery has long been closed, but there is still a cacophony of sounds that play together as if I was listening to rehearsed symphony. Cars pass by continuously and the sound of their motors acted as almost an underlying tone that set a baseline for the other sounds that are present in this setting. I can imagine that people who come here don’t even notice the cars racing by, and the amount of noise that they make, but as I have come to notice, the noise pollution coming from Hardin street is non-stop. It was only until I was able to faze out the cars that I was able to really take in the sounds from the environment around me. Subtle gusts of wind that made the trees rustle above my head like whispers coming from a silent onlooker, and as the wind continued to blow, leaves would periodically fall around me making the faintest of patters along the concrete. As I got deeper into my evaluation of the things going on around me, I suddenly got distracted by the sound of subwoofers passing by in a jacked up pickup truck that deafened any sort of audio stimulus around me. This would be a recurring theme during my time in front of Stickboy and I eventually had to completely ignore the road noise in order to really dig deep into the subtle sounds around me. Once I was finally able to hone in, I was really able to pick out unique sounds that I had always seemed to ignore in my daily routine. One being the slamming of doors coming from the adjacent apartment complex that made me jump every single time, and another being the chatter of friends returning from a long day of class. All of which being sounds that are very normal to people’s everyday life but are overlooked constantly because of how acclimated we are to hearing them. Everything around me was so loud that I had to really strain in order to even notice the birds chirping and the squirrels scurrying around me in an effort to stash enough food for the winter. In this environment, the industrial sounds around me outweighed any sort of natural environmental noise, and because of this unbalance it’s incredibly hard to take in the natural environment itself and the sounds that we unknowingly ignore on a daily basis.
Today I ventured out to the field behind one of my good friend’s apartments on Queen St in Boone, NC. Here, many wild deer, rabbits, and chipmunks scurry about the serenity that rests here. This field is where nature and human inhabitance collide, being squished up against a tall mountain. With houses and apartments circling it, it makes for a place of community for dog and cat owners alike. Typically at night, we can hear foxes coming down from said mountain, with us confusing their howls for screaming women in need of help. They slink into the valleys for some mischief no doubt. But during a rainy autumn day in mid-October, the field is honest and peaceful — despite the obnoxious sound of the Appalachian State Football game in the distance; with music, announcers, and drunk white people. The sound of the announcer’s muffled voice was the first thing I heard upon coming to this area. His voice was loud and confident, but traveling over the hills through houses and a drizzle of rain the voice became distorted and sounded as if he was talking through the sleeve of his shirt. The announcer was talking of sustainability, which I thought was quite ironic considering how much energy it must burn to make a voice reach a couple miles away. Nonetheless, the voice eventually went silent and all that was left was the sound of drums from the marching band. They were very distant and somewhat of a whisper, but I could recognize the drums from going to games in the past. During these moments of relative silence from the stadium, I was able to hear what this place would sound like on any normal day. The first natural sound I heard was the chirp of the cricket. He was defiant and proud, determined to be heard over the distant drums and car tires(which he was). After this I recognized other crickets as well. Birds sung in an orchestra from the trees. I heard small chirps with no replies, another coo-ed to my left, and on my right was a familiar song that I’ve heard growing up. The sound of birds was not constant, but sprinkled throughout. These chirps lay against an ambience of cars driving past. The small sounds of distant roads was more or less of a constant, while the occasional car swooshed close by on wet roads and through puddles. A couple times the low grumble of a loud muffler went by and then faded. The wind howled against my ear as rain trickled down on the hood of my rain jacket, sounding like little taps on a window. I found peace in the sounds of crickets, birdsongs, and wind-driven rain. The sounds of cars splashing through puddles was also peaceful as it felt nostalgic in a weird way, like I was in my grandma’s living room again. Carson often discussed sound as being vital when appreciating nature, especially when it comes to recognizing when it changes. She specifically talks about the birds in Silent Spring, saying that “On the mornings that once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh,” (Carson, 2). Here she describes how the absence of birdsong showed a disturbing change in the environment and how paying attention made one notice and wonder why. I hope I do not live to witness the silencing of the birds again with climate change causing many extinctions among bird species, but the array of bird songs which I heard while sitting in this field told me not to worry just yet. Thoreau talks about birdsong as well in his Walden, and more specifically, he talked about the owl: “Yet I love to hear their wailing, their doleful responses, trilled along the wood-side, reminding me sometimes of music and singing birds; as if it were the dark and tearful side of music, the regrets and sighs that would fain be sung,” (Thoreau, 124). Here he describes the owl’s screech as sorrowful music, giving life and character to specific sounds. He perfectly paints the feeling that some natural sounds give of that all humans find when listening to nature around them.
(I tried to include a picture but the website wouldn’t let me, oops!)
Location: My bedroom of my home in Boone (address can be granted upon request)
Time of day: 7 AM – 7:40 AM
Season: Fall
Date: Friday morning of October 18th 2019
Reason for choosing this location: I do not have a car, so travel is fairly difficult for me, and given my work and school schedule plus the recently colder weather, moving around has become increasingly more difficult. Aside from that, this location was not chosen solely for the quick and easy access or simplicity; although that could be a factor, I believe you will see that this location has much more to offer and meets the requirements of this assignment after reading my response.
I moved into my current house this past August when the school year started. During that time, the weather was atrociously hot, and life within my residential area seemed to be virtually nonexistent. Living in a home with no central air, I have grown accustomed to leaving my windows open at night to let in some sort of breeze. This habit has stuck even as the weather has begun to cool down, except now I am facing a new issue with this lovely, albeit cold, fall weather: I am woken up every single morning around 7 AM by multiple birds singing their songs and chirping. Some would say that this is a blessing or to just close the windows if it becomes too much of an irritant, however, the latter does absolutely nothing to squash the sounds and even though I am supportive of the birds singing, being forcefully woken by chirps that come at predetermined and succinct intervals does not afford me the luxury of sleep. Although sunrise is a bit before 7, I have noticed that the birds outside my window prefer dawn to any other time. As I have noticed this for the past month or so, I decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to wake up and actually listen to the noises while watching the night turn into the day. After being fully rested from break and this short week, I made it fully clear to myself that I would wake up as soon as the birds made me; and so I did. This morning, I woke up right around 7 AM, got up, made coffee and a quick breakfast, pulled up my blinds, opened every window in my room, and listened to the noises that surrounded me.
Thoreau spent his time at Walden immersing himself as deeply as possible in the area with which he lived. During and after reading his book, I have made it a point to spend as much time as possible outside in my own small area and soak up as much noise, visual aids, and sensory details as possible. As annoying as these birds were to me, a young and utterly exhausted college student, I knew that I should be thankful for many reasons. As Carson said herself, “The early mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with the beauty of bird song” (Carson, 103). Yet here I was: fortunate enough to live in a space and time where Carson and scientists and activists like her fought for the ability to hear these birds chirp.
As I sipped my coffee while cuddled up in my comforter, I decided to close my eyes without the intention of falling asleep and fully working my mind to discern the various noises around me. First, I hear one chirp that, upon deeper listening, elongated into more of a call that I assumed was to its fellow brethren. The more I listened, I heard the noise that irritated me almost every morning turn into a gentle coo. The time frame between each call was a little bit more than 50 seconds; which, as I was objectively trying to comprehend my surroundings, I realized is quite a long time. For some reason, its call sounded similar to what a crow sounds like. It was a shrill noise, but there was a deeper bass in this bird’s song. Then, in a staggering manner, another bird entered the soliloquy and formed some sort of a chorus with its neighbor. This bird sang at a higher octave, and I, an absolutely inexperienced bird watcher, could only imagine this sweet sound coming from a petite and colorful bird. Explaining the once, and still semi, irritating noises that the birds made outside of my window is an incredibly difficult task, but I have the songs in my head and the intervals with which they sang together so ingrained that I could keep time by tapping my foot if I was asked to do so.
I continued to close my eyes off and on during this time to truly capture the sounds in my mind, but at one point I was caught so off guard by a stunningly mechanical sounds that I was forced to open them. It was at that time, I realized that my neighbors were awake and getting on with their day. I was able to watch and listen to them take out trash, rearrange their recycling/garbage bins, walk their dogs, start their cars, and drive down the street. As I watched the world around my slowly and not so silently wake up, I realized that the sky had done the same. It was around 7:40 AM that I realized I had watched my world come to life, and with the human activity becoming more prominent, I noticed that the birds had gone off somewhere else for their music had ceased as their job had been done.
As I began to come out of my hyper-awareness, I did some self reflecting. The aural litter and utter cacophony I once associated with the birds as they interrupted my sleep became something beautiful that I was grateful to hear. The location of my bedroom would absolutely not be the same if these birds were not there. Sure, it might be quieter, but I live in the Appalachian Mountains surrounded by nature at every turn and these birds are 100% a part of that. The music of my street and that surrounds my home in these Blue Ridge Mountains is native to this environment. It doesn’t matter if the houses were erected or not because these birds would sing every single morning. Given the time of day, I only focused on the birds for they are a part of my daily life and I felt it slightly ironic considering Rachel Carson’s book, so I felt obligated to fully observe and analyze their sounds and how they affected my morning. Birds basically invented singing, and the choir of coos, chirps, tweets, and hoots around my room composed all the way from bass to soprano is something I am now grateful to hear every morning, and I hope to remember this lesson tomorrow when I am woken up by the one I can only assume is cousin to the crow.
Over fall break I went exploring in Blowing Rock and stumbled upon the Glen Burney trail which is on 243 Laurel Ln . The unique landscape was filled with birds chirping continuously throughout the trail. Because this trail is so close to many attractions in Blowing Rock, you could hear the honks of the traffic as well as the river flow that was moving slowly through parts of the trail which was the keystone sound of the trail from my experience. I was altered by the sound of crunching leaves as I went on this short journey. I think nature is capable of making music and I argue this occurs in nature nonstop. I felt relaxed and calm after listening to the falls plowing through the rocks in the stream. Although the trail was full of life on October 12th around 2:30, the building yellow jacket hissing was enough to turn my interests away from the beautiful sounds and views in the area. The alertness that followed from the hissing reminds me of music that pumps you up before a game because of how quickly I realized I should turn around. Despite this I had a good time observing the old architecture from the old sewege plant which no longer dumps into the creek.
https://mail.google.com/mail/u/1?ui=2&ik=1b71138b39&attid=0.1&permmsgid=msg-a:r-1491688082220913841&th=16de6ce6e98ce7ce&view=att&disp=safe&realattid=16de6ce4f66e82caac81
https://mail.google.com/mail/u/1?ui=2&ik=1b71138b39&attid=0.2&permmsgid=msg-a:r-1491688082220913841&th=16de6ce6e98ce7ce&view=att&disp=safe&realattid=16de6ce4fe3e5922eee2
I chose a location that was dear to my heart and truly encompasses who I am as a person. 574 Brookshire Rd Boone, NC, is home to the Ted Mackorell soccer complex as well as a portion of the Boone Greenway. “Ted Mack” complex is where I have played collegiate soccer for the past four years. Those fields are filled with countless memories playing the sport I love with the people I love. The greenway is a place where I feel relaxed and at peace with nature. When the stress of everyday life gets too much, the greenway lets me escape into an imaginary world. I chose this area because it combined two of my favorite aspects of life: soccer and nature. This location is so unique because it offers so many activities anyone can partake in. What makes this location neat is that people get to experience both very man-made sights and sounds as well as natural sights and sounds. People who are just going for a walk on the parkway can feel like they are one with nature as well as still feeling like they are a part of civilization. I have spent probably at least half of my collegiate career at these fields, yet I never stopped to listen to my surroundings until now. Around 5 p.m. on Thursday, October 17th, I got to watch, listen, and experience this beloved area. The air was crisp, around 50 degrees, but the howling high winds made it feel much colder. The sky was a soft blue, with the sun just beginning to make its way down. The first sounds I noticed were the screams of children on the nearby soccer fields. The man-made echoes were overpowering to the soft, natural noises. Since it was the evening, there were tons of kids running around at practice. I could constantly hear the sounds of balls being kicked and coaches yelling out instructions. Just off in the distance, the sounds of cars zooming by could be heard. As I walked on the greenway, I listened to the noises of several dogs that barked at one another as they trotted by. The soft, light footsteps of nearby joggers were quiet but noticeable. The man-made sounds caught my attention first, but once I sat down and really listened, I couldn’t get the more natural sounds out of my head. The wind was especially breezy that evening, making loud, whistling sounds. The wind was causing the leaves to swirl in circles over and over again. The leaves ruffled onto the sidewalk while the joggers were unintentionally running over them. The branches of the trees swayed back and forth, brushing up against each other. As the sun silently went down, you could hear hints of crickets and frogs beginning to come out for the night. The interesting thing about these natural sounds was that they were all soft and still, but at the same time, they were peaceful and serene. But those noises weren’t overpowering. You had to sit down and listen to them. The entire sound experiment made me think about the possibility of these noises no longer being heard. Rachael Carson’s Silent Spring reminds me of the simple sounds we take for granted every day. This experiment made me want to go out to other areas in the high country and take it all in. Both the man-made and natural sounds make me appreciate what all the outdoors has to offer.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/19PeJpEfNI7QhTYVsgBmVIPh3GJOEM1bmq-nNiF5kbmw/edit?usp=sharing
Works Cited
Carson, Rachel. Silent Spring. Mariner Books (Houghton Mifflin), 2002.
Thoreau, Henry David. Walden. Thoreau. Princeton Classics, 2016.
https://drive.google.com/open?id=1W0racKRQcm0hmqR9y1BTIV3ZYQU1OdxA
https://drive.google.com/open?id=1MXlNb45lvduZN3FDquDx_Bzs4REsV9Ch
Today I chose to spend some time on King Street in downtown Boone. During my visit I studied the different habits of not only the people around me, but also the wildlife, passing cars, and also the sounds of nature. Within the first few minutes of my time I took note of all of the people that passed by. While I assume most of them were fellow students on their way to class or their respective jobs, I also noticed quite a few of the locals engaging in what seemed to be their normal everyday routines. I believe that the time of day I chose to study was optimal because it was mid-day, when most people are out and about and keeping themselves busy. Most of the local restaurants were open for business so there were people frequently in and out. Students, both male and female, passed by me while engaged in their own little conversations. By the looks of it I could tell that some were simply friendly conversation while others were more intimate. I could see the facial expressions of those around me, some very friendly and others not so much. While I couldn’t hear their conversations word for word, I could make out their discussions for the most part. One couple were arguing over where they were going to have lunch. The man had his heart set on Our Daily Bread, while the woman wished to branch out and try something new, something they hadn’t had before. Their disagreement was not loud by any means, but you could tell they were not agreeing on both ends. The harsher tones used signaled that they were not at all the happy, care-free couple that I assumed was strolling by. She pulled him in the direction that she wished to go and he instead stopped in his tracks and insisted on going to the restaurant of his choice. During my time I also heard the many bikes passing by. The sounds were much different from that of a car or truck. I could hear the grinding of the gears and the whisping of the tires as they passed by. I could tell that some of them seemed to be in much more of a hurry than the others. The faster they went by the louder their sounds became. There were those who were just going on a casual ride and those who were passing with a purpose. Each bike had a different sound, for example, there were those who had obviously been in a bit of a hurry that exhaled much louder than others once arrived to their destinations.
It is becoming chilly out, I could hear the faint sounds of wildlife in the background. The birds were still carrying on with their everyday routines, gathering food, reinforcing their homes for winter, and just going about their daily routines. Listening to the birds reminded me of Rachel Carson’s first chapter of her book “Silent Spring” when she was discussing the birds singing. The sounds I heard were not as clear as those heard from areas that have less traffic, but they were still there. I imagine the wildlife in this area aren’t as fond of King Street as they would be more rural areas. They kept their distant while still making themselves known. Today was quite a windy day so I also came across the sounds of the trees as the wind blew.
Watching the leaves fall as the wind blows them from their limbs and the rustling of the leaving piling up along the sidewalks and streets was a tell-tale sign that Fall is upon us and winter is coming. I noticed a few dump trucks and construction trucks passing by during my time. They made a much louder noise as they rode by, carrying more weight than the average car on the road. Because of the speed limit set, the vehicles were not whipping past me as they would on a busier highway or freeway. I caught bits of conversations here and there. Some people were on the telephone, trying to keep their conversations to themselves and the person talking on the other end of the line. They spoke in much more hushed tones than those that were speaking face to face. I’m not sure whether this was out of respect for those around them or the want to keep their conversations more private. In a way it reminds me of Thoreau’s experience at Walden Pond; being able to take a step back from the demands of ever day life and simply watch the life around you. I think that sometimes we get too caught up in the expectations of those around us and forget to take the time to partake in things that we truly enjoy. I could hear the sounds of brakes squealing at the stoplight on cars that either seemed to be older models or those with squeaky brakes. The lights changed from green, to yellow, and then to red. I took note of the expressions of the drivers, whether they were going to slow down when they approached a yellow light or whether they were going to speed up in an attempt to pass it before it turned red. There were other students who seemed to be doing the same thing that I was doing, people watching. Although I wouldn’t consider myself much of a people watcher, today I took the time to study their habits and their mannerisms. Some seemed to be louder than others, which I could tell they may have more of an outgoing personality in which case they aren’t bothered by others listening in on their conversations. There were people passing by with their pets, some of the dogs barked while others were more timid and didn’t make their presence as known. I could hear their owners cooing them and reassuring them that they were perfectly fine. When they interacted with one another some of them barked, some whimpered, and some even growled. Not every animal is meant to be social and interact with one another. I could tell when one was unsure of the other by the tone of their vocals. I heard the back and forth of the owners, the ones that were not in the mood to be social simply said their hellos and kept about their business in a light friendly tone, while others piped other rather excitedly when encountered with another pet. I could tell they were putting forth the effort to hold a conversation with the other person and allow their pets to interact. I heard sounds from the local restaurants nearby. The cooks would step outside for a smoke break, or even just a break in general and partake in things to pass the time. Their cellphones ringing, text messages coming through, the sound of a delivered message. Some people passed by with headphones on, their music so loud at times that I could tell what artist and song they were indulging in. People have very different tastes in music. I caught bits of R&B, classic rock, and even some modern country. You can tell a lot about a person by their taste in music.
I noted the sounds of footsteps around me, some heavier than others while some I wouldn’t have even known passed by without looking up. When you’re trying to make note of all of the sounds around you sometimes you miss a lot of the visuals. It’s nice being able to put a sound to an image. Overall, I think my time spent on King Street was well spent. It was nice to take a step back and be the observer rather than the one being observed.
I chose to sit quietly on my porch at my house, that’s on a road off of Howards Creek. Ginny lives next door, as well as Prissy and Taco (the dogs), and Igor (the parrot). I knew that my attempt to observe quiet wouldn’t last long, as Ginny loves to talk, and Taco and Prissy love to play. What was suppose to be half an hour on my porch in the chilly sunset turned into 2 hours (an hour and a half of neighbor entertaining before I got to my distraction-less listening). It was a fall day, in the beginning of the season, just as the cold began creeping in. The neighbors were active as they’re prepping for the cold season in various ways. These preparations are noisy, and I got to witness them.
Soft crinkles and rustling caught my attention first, a pretty consistent background noise that aided the fall aesthetic. Leaves had become crunchy now, no longer lush and full of life. Blowing around, unguided, unknowingly. The wind could now be heard; the leaves gave it purpose.
Behind me are clacks of sorts. Talons on a plastic perch, then beak-on-seed cracking. A few puffs of air, beats of the wing, and a slight chirp. “Where did you go?” I was nervous that all of this was happening outside of my view. A bark chunk got knocked off a tree and rustled crusty leaves below. Beak-on-seed crack, crack, crack, now visible upside-down bird pecks the seed.
A car door slams, yards away. Beat-beat-beat the bird has now vanished. The mountain reverberates the interrupting noise. It slammed again, and again, and again, each time weaker than the time before. A shrill bark made me jump and look back (Prissy), then the sound continued from behind my neighbors walls, a bark again, and again, slightly shriller, and ending with a cackle. This time it wasn’t the mountain mimicking, but Igor, the parrot.
To my left, some squibbling became audible, chitter chatter, a conversation perhaps regarding the sunflower seeds that littered the porch. Little nails against the wood, pit-pat, I looked over to see cheeks full of seed. A chipmunk gathering, leaving none for my talonous neighbors. Thoreau would most likely refer to these guys as neighbors, so that’s how I thought of the situation, neighbors just coming for a visit, perhaps not for sits and talks, but for a meal, receiving my food offering in exchange for some quality time. It only took a small bribe in the form of Sunflower seed bird food, and a bit of quiet.
A pulse from the side of the house, as a reminder that I’m still connected to the grid, and my refrigerator that runs on electricity, scaring off my neighbors that run on seeds. As a kid, I would lay in bed and hear the fridge pulse awake, waking myself to wonder and imagine. I’ve learned to tune this noise out through the years as it’s a distraction, and letting my mind wander and imagine at this age leads down far less enjoying paths, mostly into briars and thick brush, instead of through sunflower patches among my smaller friends. Brisk air made its audible return, and I stepped inside to warm up, a privilege I was grateful to have, leaving my neighbors out in the chill made me nervous. Meanwhile, my roommates began their gnawing in the walls, little bone teeth against wood framing and drywall. To them, I imagine heavy stomps and vibrations made by my feet travel through the beams on which their paws rest… stopping them in their tracks… the gnawing pauses. Even though I feel less exposed inside my house, I seem to be unable to shake the animal-ity that we all share. My attempt to escape the cold is not uniquely human, and it appears my crawl space did not provide shelter enough for the mice. While dealing with such mouse-invasion, Rachel Carson’s words couldn’t escape my imagination, and the value of these small ecosystem cogs weighed on my conscience. Setting traps was a moral debate I had to fight for a while, luckily by the time I mustered the strength to set traps, the mice had outwitted me. The gnawing continues. With time a balance must come about, between mouse and me, I suppose I must be the one to adjust, though, as I am the one who built my home upon the mouse’s.
Kate Bradley
The Roots Garden
Howard Street, Boone, NC 28607
Sunday, December 1, 2019 at 12:30PM
Sitting in the roots garden, I feel like I’m sitting in a tiny bubble of nature in a large patch of human-claimed land. It is sunny and slightly breezy, in a way that reminds me of the tang of citrus fruit. There are brief moments of peace, muted rustling of branches scraping together repeatedly and quietly as not to disturb the peace around it when the wind picks up, matched with the whooshing sound of air making its way around my head as though I am a barrier to its final destination. This sound of air passing is constant, and can become something overwhelming to listen closely to because it is all encompassing. The rest of the noises become a background to this one. I laid my head on the ground to hear what the earth itself sounded like. There were tiny, mid range scufflings from some small insects seemly making their way along just under the soil surface. All these things, the visual identity of plants and gardens that were once flourishing and overflowing with vegetation, now resting happily in the seasonal sleepiness of it all, almost makes you forget that this space is treated like a guest on someone else’s property. When I draw myself out of the pace of listening closely, I remember that car sounds have surrounded me the whole time. The sound is louder than I remember the last time I really listened, it is certainly trying to speak louder than the whispering trees. And just as loudly as it comes, it goes, only to be replaced by another. The sound is heavier, and shakes the earth slightly each time a car passes on either side. I am drawn to thinking about the ways in which this must be initially very off putting for the insects and the small wildlife. And then another car passes and although the whirring sound starts and ends quickly, the sound makes itself known while the car is distant coming, and when the car is distant going. The sound does not leave so quickly, even when it leaves. I can hear the low, dull ringing of the sound repeat in my ears, like phantom cars have been continuing to pass until another actually does. Someone shrilly yells goodbye to the other people in the house next to the garden, and then slams the door to their house as they trot up road towards campus. I am reminded, in this light pitter-patter of feet on the pavement, that we move like the insects below the soil surface, yet we sound as startling in this place as the cars going buy. The sound almost echoes in my mind because its making a presence known.
Meanwhile, in the background, the tree still whispers it’s song. The insect still lightly works away, and the wind reaches its destiny. But I feel more so now than when I first sat down that they will be heard one way or another. As though our screaming pitter pattering feet, and the drudging heaviness of a car cutting through a resistant bit of air, and the rise and fall of the cadence in a goodbye are pressing down on the quiet nature sounds, but when we perish, they will remain. When each of our sounds are gone, theirs will continue in a sort of rhythmic harmony.