“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 (for urban and rural areas as close as possible without identifying exact addresses and private residences; for outdoor locations, e.g a state park or a beach, 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 Sunday, February 23rd. 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 
Posey Lester-Niles
Feb 10, 2025 – Early spring day
Soundscape Assignment
I chose to sit in my backyard, butting up along the bed of crout creek but only a house distance away from 421 heading toward Tennessee. This spot became more and more interesting as the time went on during my sit. Perhaps you could say that I chose this spot out of convenience but I also want to be able to appreciate convenient natural beauty in my life. My thought is that if I can sit and feel connected to nature with such a simple act I will be more inspired to make it a habit in my life.
I think that Thoreau would appreciate my take on that connection in a sense. He would value the simplicity of just sitting in a spot that is so close to your normal but using that space to be intentional about connecting with the natural world. However, I think he would want a larger commitment to that connection. Instead of me living my regular life and stepping away for 30 minutes, Thoreau is intertwined deeply with the sacrifice that was important in his experience.
As I am sitting here, I hear the creek. It’s continuous shuffling as it flows over the rocks in its bed. The creek and I are nestled at the bottom of a steep valley so its sound is magnified off the steep slope in front of me . Behind me, as I face the creek, I can hear the road. The sounds of the cars ebb and flow as they pass by and their impact is much more muted than the distance to the road would suggest. Some of the louder cars worked like clockwork and the assumption of the buses running drew me back into the schedule of my everyday life. 1:40 PM and I hear the maroon route pass by, I take that bus to work twice a week.
Up over the hill, so steep and tall I can’t imagine noticing anything beyond it, if I close my eyes, I can hear a repetitive spinning whir. It is a sound that is hard to distinguish from windy rustling of leaves, but its repetition is what queued me into understanding it was more than just the typical breeze.
Every now and again a bird will call over me to its fellow in the front yard then swoosh on by and they trade spots. Their high pitched singing is a welcomed song after the long, harsh winter; and they have been out more frequently with the refreshing rush of spring weather. Nothing about this was unexpected or extraordinary but it was new to my day, even to sit on my own property. I appreciated the time to sit and reflect in such an accessible way. Everywhere can be beautiful and feel natural.
For my soundscape assignment I chose to focus on the sonic identity of my backyard in Deep Gap. My roommates, boyfriend, and I moved into a new house here in January and I feel like I am still exploring the five acres that come along with our farm house. Having an excuse to sit and be present with the ecosystem I now call home was a great way to foster my sense of place. The five acres of land consists of many different sections that come together and form a diverse ecosystem. This includes a large section of Elk Creek, smaller tributaries that criss-cross the property, a mature forested area, and a grassy meadow. The combination of all these microbiomes creates habitat for many creatures and sets the stage for a unique soundscape. Before settling on a location to sit and listen, I walked a few laps around my backyard to find a place that called to me. I chose a small worn wooden bridge that crossed one of the smaller tributary creeks behind the house. It was far enough from Elk Creek that the rushing water wouldn’t drown out all the other voices of the ecosystem, but far enough from the road that the occasional car would not overpower the symphony. I set a timer for 20 minutes (so that I would not be distracted checking the time), opened my notes app, and started a free flowing list describing my environment, which I have transcribed below:
Deep Gap, North Carolina/Early Spring/February 8th 2025/Approximately 5:40pm
Stream trickling under me as water moves over and between rocks and leaves and sticks and grasses; Constant powerful rushing of Elk Creek behind me; The smell of smoke, trees, and wet ground; A bright white waxing gibbous moon smiling overhead; Barking dogs communicating to each other in a friendly manner (maybe the two beagles that chase my car when I turn onto our street, or maybe a neighborhood dog I haven’t met yet); The low vibrational hum of an airplane overhead or machinery far off in the distance, I can’t quite place which, the hum so low and ordinary I almost didn’t register it; Birds chirping many different songs at different volumes and pitches and becoming a chorus of undoubtedly many different species; There are also sharp melodies and chirps that rise above the collective song; The plastic rustle of my winter coat rubbing against itself as I move my arms and the sleeves brush against myself; Bubbles popping as the small creek under me continues to gurgle; The creek of my front door being opened followed by the same from the screen door then both slamming shut behind my roommate; Her footsteps out onto the poarch and down the wooden front steps toward her car; My voice breaks into the peacful sounds of normal Deep Gap hub-bub as I say hello as not to scare her and let her know I am outside; Our warm goodbye (she is leaving for the ballet) and the excitement of her voice as she shows off her final outfit chose (she is wearing my shirt I suggested she borrow for the occasion); The car door opening and closing with a heavy slam; The car starting and the engine warming up in a sudden roar that turns into a steady hum; gravel moving under the wheals as she moves forward up the long driveway; Crickets start to wake up and chirp almost like they are yawning and stretching; Or is that a new bird joinfing the chorus with a unique high pitched chirping song; A silent breeze moved through the valley and the grassy plant beside me on the creek bank dances slowly; My boots tapping on the dry old wood of the bridge as I get up to walk back inside; My stomach lets out a deep guttural grumble agreeing that it is time to head inside for dinner.
Continuing my reflection, I want to consider the keynote sounds of my backyard, or those noises that contribute most to the acoustic signature of the place. The most abundant sound is the steady rush of Elk Creek and the accompanying gurgle of the tributary creeks. Elk Creek provides the loudest background noise, and it can be heard as soon as you step out onto the porch, although you might not hear it immediately as the low rush blends into the soundscape and can be overlooked. The smaller trickles of the little creeks are more secretive. You have to be right next to them to hear their voice. I do believe the acoustics of my backyard vary from time of day to time of year. I was surprised that during my listening I did not hear the popping rubbery call I am used to in the morning from frogs or geese or some other species I do not know. If you have ever played the board game Trouble it is not unlike the sound made when a player pops the dice in the little plastic cage to see how many spaces to move forward. IT is clear now that these animals are active in the morning, and that is why I heard no sign of them the evening I listened. My experience leads me to agree with Thoreau that music is an inherent part of any environment, and I believe it is composed by many different biotic and abiotic characters interacting with each other. My experience listening to the music of my backyard reminds me of a passage from Walden’s fourth chapter Sounds. Thoreau writes, “At evening, the distant lowing of some cow in the horizon beyond the woods sounded sweet and melodious, and at first I would mistake it for the voices of certain minstrels by whom I was sometimes serenaded, who might be straying over the hill and dale; but soon I was not unpleasantly disappointed when it was prolonged into the cheap and natural music of the cow” (Thoreau, 128). I can’t help but see the parallels between my experience and the one Thoreau had on a similar evening over 150 years ago. We sat as the day ended, listening to the music of our surroundings and delightfully tried to decipher each sound, whether it be a cow or an airplane.
Clara NeSmith
February 14, 2025—Valentine’s Day, as it’s known in American culture. The wind is calm yet steady as I sit outside my home, adjacent to Appalachian State University. The familiar hum of cars rushing down River Street fills the air. Today is no different. But amid the mechanical rhythm, a crow cackles in the distance. I wonder if he, too, celebrates love in his own way, or if his cry is merely a call to the wind.
The trees that line my street stand mostly bare, clinging to their last few leaves. When the wind stirs, they sing, a delicate chime that, for a moment, overpowers the industrial sounds of Boone. But the hush does not last. A car crawls up my quiet one-way street, and I think of Thoreau at Walden Pond, where the bustle of American life was a distant murmur. Though my world is not as secluded as his, there are still moments of retreat here. The deer seem to think so, too. They often wander past my window, nibbling at fallen treats. More often than not, I see them instead of people. They act as a comforting reminder that we are not alone in this world.
From where I sit, I can see the Hill Street parking lot, it’s more clear today than ever, the bare branches revealing what summer once kept secret. The sun glints off the window of a white Subaru. Nearby, frogs croak from a pond littered with Coors Light cans and Wendy’s bags. Just days ago, a brutal freeze swept through, and I worried the frogs wouldn’t make it. But here they are, persisting, adapting, and even perhaps living with the pollution. Something that has become part of their world. The pond, fenced off and forgotten, likely belongs to campus.
Suddenly, the deer arrive and disappear just as quickly. I hear them first… a slow crunch of leaves beneath hooves alerts me they might be near. For a moment, they pause, staring at the odd creature tapping away on his computer. I’d like to think they sense no danger in me, that they feel safe. But perhaps some ancient memory reminds them of what others like me have done. In a heartbeat, they bolt. The five of them vanished into the brush, their escape marked by the sound of rustling branches. Then, once again, the sounds of Boone resumes its rhythm.
Cars wax and wane in the distance, the occasional grumble of a truck or a sharp beep of a horn remind me I’m surrounded by boisterous lives. My roommate’s return from work adds another layer to the noise. Her hips brushing against a bush bent towards me by the recent freeze, a brief scratching sound echoes that highlights the constant dance between humans and nature. It is a reminder of the quiet collisions that shape our world, often unnoticed, yet ever-present.
The sun emerges briefly, casting a golden glow over my presence. Nearby, faint music drifts from a fraternity house down the street. Its melody clashes against the more delicate sounds of nature, the subtle chirps and gentle pecking beneath the forest floor. It’s a strange symphony, chaotic yet mesmerizing, a song too catchy to leave behind. My fingers, stiff from the cold, beg me to find comfort inside, but the sun tempts me to stay just a little longer.
And in this moment, as the cars rush toward their destinations and the world hurries forward, I find comfort in the sounds that linger. Whispering and reminding me of a simpler, slower life. A perspective I believe Thoreau would enjoy, the realization of simple things is one far too often taken for granted. My own quaint cabin in the woods is where I reside and despite not living in a “voluntary poverty” manner I remember today that the world is full of gifts all around us marching to the sounds of life.
-Ayden Dayhoff
It’s Thursday night at 5:30 pm. I am driving to Asheville and halfway on my travels right between Spruce Pines and Burnsville my car begins to shake and one of my least favorite sounds begins to reverberate in my joints. Wump wump wump wump wump. I have been on enough road trips and have dealt with enough old cars that I knew what this wumpa wumpa meant, my brakes were in trouble and I needed to pull off the highway. I thought I knew the road I was going down right off the highway, but I was wrong yet it was a decision I do not regret. It led me to a small side road going into a small community and alongside a quiet stream that the damage from the hurricane was the most overwhelming aspect of the scenery. The creek trickles but nothing like it once could have been, the steep banks muting its rippling voice until I sit on the rocks overlooking the beauty after such a disaster. Cars drive by overriding any chance of hearing the creek, or of the brushing of branches in the wind. Some slow to ask if I need any help all tinged with a southern drawl, and a tone that seemed like they did this everyday, of course why wouldn’t I stop and ask a stranger if he needed help. Step brothers, sons, and friends with mechanic experience offered up hoping if there was anything they could do to help my situation. My beard scratches my collar as I shake my head while saying “I’m all good, I have a stream to listen to and clouds to watch, while I wait for a tow truck.” Each gave a sigh and a look of what’s this kid doing out here, each time a smile on my face, and more gratitude for each passing person. The crackle and crinkle of a 50 year olds vape whispers as she departs, we all have our vices, mine maybe cigarettes or watching clouds or maybe its my smile that plasters over any situation trying to make those around me feel at ease and hoping doing so may calm the noise internally that’s shaking to get out. I think about screaming but in that neighborhood it would not have been welcomed, a taboo. Yet the kids up the ridge shout, fight and scream, knowing it’s an everyday occurrence no one takes note, if it happens everyday can it still be a taboo? I have never been in this environment so everything was new and worth listening to and observing in any capacity. Ah, someone seems to have lost the ball they were playing with, another calls out, this one louder but filled with a tinge of annoyance yet deep care and the kids run in for dinner. The world goes naturally quiet once again, a few birds singing out for the final time before dark combes over the mountains, the creek still muted by disasters of the past, and a jet ripping through the sky thousands of feet up, the echoes reach my core on the ground and ripple through a quiet back corner of appalachia that gets no signal. We miss out on silence, even in spots of nothing, ripples from noise disconnected which touch upon the silence leaving it unable to be still. For a moment I feel silence, a lul, a hiccup in what I am aware of. Click, sch, my lighter comes to life, the soft hiss of the butane followed by the crackle of a Marlboro red catching fire, gifted by one of the carefilled passerbys tinged with a southern drawl. My inhale and exhale, my breath in and out affecting the soundscape, my sound scape. No, no sound scape is our own, it is an orchestra, an unending symphony of affects that neither giver or receiver are fully aware of, shared in its entirety. Swaying in and out of awareness, some waiting to be heard, others tired of being heard, of being the loudest, of not giving room for others to be listened to. I want to listen to the unlistened, the crackling and popping of the soil, the sand settling at the bottom of the creek, the birds inhale, my own footsteps on the gravel settling, and the clouds that bump into each other, each molecule changing its charge and building up into lighting. And even the moon light bouncing off of the clouds or my skin, I wonder what that sounds like?
Maybe the same as a soft rain on a pond, a way of coming home, of integration.
-Elan Hess
Price Lake; The Morning of January 25,2025
Sound is an orchestra. Very little do we find times in our lives where we hear one or less frequencies, pitches, and sounds. Very little are we truly, alone. In this writing I wish to provide my own analysis as to how I believe Thoreau would want us both to see and hear in order to find out more about ourselves and the surrounding world. In “Walden”, he wrote the chapter “Sounds” to provide a tutorial as to how we can go about living our life in this way. The answers lie in all of our senses, and we must utilize them all to find our true self. In the writing below, take notice of the detail in the combinations of sight and sound as to how insights come through them like Thoreau suggests.
I sit alone. One soul in the damp drab woods of Appalachian winter. The vibrancy and light brought to these hills by the mild temperatures of summer seem all but gone by the time mid-February rolls around. I recall the warblers twits and the wren’s craw. In my mind, I search back to those moments when the wind’s howl was dampened. Fluttering leaves would obstinately hold themselves steadfast to its home amongst the woody trunks and branches. The same branches that now despair in their longingness, used to serve as veins to support the leaves in their battle. Now, they allow the wind to pass through them with no care for talks of resistance. The veins have been hardened to bones. Bones, who crack against each other, now void of the cushioning leaves provided. No longer do the cacophony of leaves sound off in their skirmish against the wind. Passers-by used to wonder if the sounds instead came from the likes of a jet engine. However we are not in the “used” we are “now”. Now, I am alone, just as alone as the skeletons who surround me, lifeless, gazing out into the future, waiting for their blood to thaw so they can welcome back their skin with open arms.
I sit alone. One soul surrounded by clacking skeletons in the damp drab woods of Appalachian winter. I analyze a frozen lake. Motionless. The winter even robs the water blind of its freedom. Winter is a cage. The water and trees are its birds. Kafka pontificated as to what true freedom may be. Many interpret his findings as freedom in his mind was being free from the shackles of economic and societal structures. These structures constricted the flow of thought and the right to your own mind. He recommends that in order for a caged bird to truly be free, the cage had to have never existed. What they fail to recognize is that if the bird flies out of its cage and forgets it. It only flies into a bigger cage it is unaware of. Just as the water, and the trees, are halted, the bird is not just chained to its mind and those who enslave it, but also the physical confines all life has been put in since primordial soup. If the bird searches for its true freedom, it will perish via the unwanted truths of our world. If it chooses to reside in its cage for the rest of its life, it will have never truly lived. I argue that the existence of the cage is what deems life to be alive. In order to define what it means to truly live, one must find a way in between the likes of the cage and the limited freedom that is provided outside of it.
I sit alone. One soul surrounded by clacking skeletons and waters robbed of its flow in the damp drab woods of Appalachian winter. I rise. I begin to walk with the utmost intention of finding more. A junco jumps in front of my path. Alone no more. Its prompt and succinct chirp cuts through the silence of the wood. I find that the only time I notice the humble junco is in winter. This is because the junco seeks winter. In its migratory path there is not a single time in which temperatures soar above 60. Why does the Junco seek what I, and so many other beings, wish to wait out? Winter halts the sounds I love that bring me to life. It robs the tree and the water of its freedom to flow. I continue my walk and I consider the Junco as the small grey bird flits from bone to bone alongside me. I stop. In front of me a creek flows past. It twirls around rocks and gurgles in pockets. It brings forth a litany of sounds I believed winter had all but extinguished. Water combats that of winter, just as the junco thrives in it. May
I no longer sit alone. many souls together in the damp drab woods of Appalachian winter. See, There will always be a cage. Being allowed to chase what makes us free is true freedom, even though it is impossible to get there. The water runs from the cold and crashes its way to the sea, the junco sings all the way to where it thrives, the trees allow the wind to blow so that it can grow once hard times pass. They all chase freedom. I now believe Kafka suggested in his paradoxical phrase regarding bird in cage, we can never truly be free, but we can try. The thought of life without a cage is incomprehensible to all of us. Yet, in defining freedom this way it allows us to experience it nonetheless.
-Tyler Nece
Fia Mascari: Window Ledge, Sanford Mall, February 6th, 2:25 pm, Spring
On February 6th, 2025, at 2:25 pm, I relaxed with a few friends on a ledge in front of a solarium window. We all sat in each other’s presence, allowing me to observe the mingling of natural and human-made sounds. The Sanford Mall at the heart of App State has created a juxtaposition of urban life with the limited plant life in the mall. The day was calm; rays of light from the sun amidst the clouds landed on my face, blending into a quiet yet dynamic atmosphere. I wasn’t planning on taking notes on the soundscape on this day, but it ended up working out and allowed me to capture the energy of human life and the easily overlooked aspects of nature.
As I listened, I noted that the wind was a key biological sound of the area as it rustled through the leaves of nearby trees. The sound varied; most of the time, it was light and whispery, but at times, it became more pronounced as it accumulated speed. In addition to these natural aspects, one could hear some minimal geological sounds, which developed from the wind’s movement, like the movement of rocks or gravel. Though faint and short-lived, the intermittent creaking of shoes against the pavement added texture to the overall aura. The most distinctive human noises were those of people in proximity. One could hear footsteps at varying speeds, some hurriedly and quickly, while others walked deliberately. Conversations came loud and clear close by but softened into the background from afar, like distant waves. Another key contributor was the music from a nearby student-run clothing pop-up. The pulsations of the beats dominated the background, sometimes rising above the natural sounds. These sounds meld into a layered and balanced ambiance. Somebody also had a car parked near the pop-up, and you could hear the moans of machinery and the biological extent of wind blend seamlessly together, providing a calming experience. Human noise contributes energy and life to the environment.
The sound landscape was not chaotic; it felt harmonized. Thus, no one sound stood above the rest. The acoustic backdrop changed with the varying winds and human movement. The gentle breeze occasionally masked other sounds; meanwhile, growing sound levels made it easier to hear the music. At this place, the wind was the most apparent keynote sound. As a constant background, it gave a mellow flow to this otherwise bustling location. The pop music’s rhythmic beating contrasted with the elements of nature, producing an image of how the human and natural worlds collide. This delightful interplay between sounds gave this area a distinctive sonic identity that depicted the symbiotic milieu.
Reflecting on the styles of geophony and anthrophony, the human sounds (anthrophony) were louder and more overt. The wind was the most dominant sound, a steady give on the soundscape. The natural sounds, gentle yet not contested, hang softly in space while things generated by human activity, taking center stage, didn’t drown the sounds of nature. It was the urban acquaintance in the loudness of the pop-up shop music that made it an acceptable part of the soundscape instead of noise.
The natural phenomena describe music in this experience, in Thoreau’s view of Walden. The movement of nature’s wind was the physical flow of natural sounds, creating almost a type of unvoiced melody. Likewise, the proposal of Bernie Krause that nature acts like a composer fitted in, as the natural sounds in the arena coherently formed a work without any human meddling. The experience of this heightened awareness of the soundscape gave me recognition to consider it as a channel of information, which provides me with insight into the natural process of sustainability for ecological peace through a holistic balance between the natural and built environment. The soundscape of Sanford Mall, blending natural and human elements, uniquely represents the complexity and beauty of our shared sonic environments.
(sorry hope the Sanford Mall is an acceptable soundscape)
Over the weekend of February 6th through the 9th, I visited Ashville and stayed in a VRBO. My VRBO was in a quiet neighborhood just a few minutes away from downtown. I knew that this was the weekend that I would want to complete my Soundcape assignment, as I was in a place that is less familiar to me than Boone and that I might overlook certain sounds in Boone, I just didn’t know when. Then, around 4:00 AM, early Friday morning, I was awoken by strong winds and rain.
The howling winds made large sounds that kept me awake throughout the night. After a while, I sort of enjoyed being awake and having the pleasure of listening to nature’s music. As I listened closer, I started to hear layered sounds, almost like harmonies from the wind. The howling was both high and low pitched as it flew by the walls of my room. The creaking sounds of the house shifting and standing against the screaming winds would have felt eerie normally, but the wind provided a sense of comfort and safety as I laid vulnerable in my bed. I could hear it surrounding the house, almost like it was swallowing it and everyone inside whole. But my house wasn’t the only thing I could hear the wind swallow. The trees were putting up a good fight against the raging, yet, somehow peaceful winds. It is still winter, so there weren’t many leaves on the trees to begin with, but I could hear small snapping sounds over and over, signifying the tiny branches that just couldn’t hold on.
I was also listening to the inconsistent tap, tap, tap of pouring rain slamming against the windows surrounding my room. It came almost like waves, the rain would go silent for a few minutes and then BOOM! Rain would blast on my windows like it was trying to break in. While these sounds were “taps,” that does not take away from the power the rain held, especially with the help of the wind. The combination of the strong, howling wind with the angry ocean-like rain created a sort of song that was almost soothing, even though I was preparing for the house to be broken into by the rain. I imagined the small critters just outside my walls who had the same fears as I did, yet they did not have sturdy walls to protect them. They did not have a house that allowed them to hear these sounds and be at peace with them.
While I was hearing so much that early morning, I was also left with the absence of sounds inside the house due to the powerful mother nature. I could no longer hear the soft hum of the refrigerator just on the other side of the wall where my head laid. I could no longer determine when the air conditioner would cut on and off which normally fills my head with white noise so that my mind may be clear to sleep. I could no longer pretend that tiny mice were wandering around as I listened to the taps of the faucet dripping all night.
All of those sounds I would normally hear inside the house are simply conveniences and luxuries that we have trained our ear to tolerate throughout the day and night. These sounds are not forces of nature, they do not teach us anything about our Earth, they are simply noise that remind us of the destruction to the planet and the unnatural path we are on. This made me think about Thoreau’s “Walden” in the Sounds chapter where he discusses his life and how the days went from light to dark over and over while accomplishing nothing memorable. Thoreau says, “The day advanced as if to light some work of mine; it was morning, and lo, now it is evening, and nothing memorable is accomplished. Instead of singing like the birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune”. Without the surprising and thought-provoking sounds that seeped through my sturdy walls that night, I would have simply heard the predictable and mind-clearing sounds of man-made fortune. The heavy wind and rain brought to me the gift of remembering nature and how our real life lies outside of our walls. Even the rain knew there were parts of nature stuck inside the house, performing the same day over and over, so it worked with the wind to break in and save us.
Parker Williamson
About a week ago, one of my roommates and I went fishing on a sunny afternoon. I could not pinpoint the exact location, but it was about 10 miles up Deck Hill Road over near the mall/Walmart. My roommate and I are both of the opinion that the road less travelled is always the way to go when fishing. In other words, the best fishing spots are the spots no one wants to get to. Therefore, we set out on a fairly grueling uphill expedition that lasted probably 45 minutes to an hour. When we finally arrived at the hole we were looking for, I casted my rod one time and then sat down to analyze the soundscape. My initial thought was that this was not going to be an adequate location to do this assignment simply because we had hiked so far into the woods that there was seemingly a complete absence of sound. However, after a couple minutes of sitting idle I realized that perhaps I was just not listening hard enough. The most prominent and constant noise that was gracing my ears was the calm sound of the water running. The stream we were fishing had a steady, gentle flow that really created quite a peaceful background noise. That noise was accompanied by a very, very faint sound of cars whirring by from the road we had walked up. The only other noises I took note of was an occasional bird tweeting or something rummaging around in the brush, as well as the familiar semi-often plopping sound of my roommate’s fly hitting the water and the zipping of the flyrod when he would pull it out of the water.
I think Thoreau would appreciate the seclusion of the location we traversed to. After all, we were about an hour walk away from the nearest man-made structure (that being the road). Granted, we were not venturing this far into the wilderness with the specific intention of escaping the constructs of society, but we tend to do so when we fish and I always feel like it is where I am the most at peace. I like the question of whether or not nature is capable of producing music, and my answer would be absolutely. The sound of the water running has always been one that brought me happiness, but I never focused on it in such a way that this assignment provoked me to. I kept thinking about where exactly this water was flowing from. I could see the mouth of the stream we were fishing, but what about the mouth of whatever stream feeds into it, and so on and so forth? Watersheds are something I have a great deal of interest in, and I appreciated the thinking that I was coaxed into doing for this assignment.
Jameson O’Hara
It’s cold outside, absolutely freezing. I’ve been sitting in my dorm all day, staring out my window that overlooks Rivers Street. It’s roughly 5 o’clock on February 16th, and it’s still very much winter. Within the past hour or so, the light rain and moody weather has shifted into an aggressive and bone-chilling snow storm. The Student Union and Summit Hall, which are usually unobstructed from my view, are nowhere to be seen amidst the whipping winds and blinding sheet of white. I find myself distracted by the sight of the storm, the almost violent nature of the gusts, and most of all the sound. I keep glancing off to the right, peeking out through the blinds into the sleeting darkness. The whooshing and howling of the wind, it reaches my ears like the wailing of a ghost. The draft catches between the cracks of my door, it strains against the frame and startles me every so often. It’s louder, more powerful, when I step out into the hall, and hear the wind coming from all directions. Although there are residents surrounding me, people holed up in their rooms, I feel incredibly isolated, with only the storm to keep me company. I can hear the other occupants occasionally (my upstairs neighbor’s footsteps, for the most part), their muffled conversations through thin walls, but the main topic on my mind is the borderline hurricane-level winds that soar by my window.
The simplicity of my small space that I reside in, which is a single room that has one window, and a sparse bathroom, would likely appeal to Thoreau in terms of sacrifice. I have a very modest food supply, and only the bare necessities to decorate my room, and I feel that the lack of distractions allow me to further connect with the sounds and occurrences that surround me. The mechanical sounds of the cars that drive by on Rivers Street, even in the middle of a wind and snow storm. The guttural roar of a Mustang, the softer puttering of a sedan, the rumbling of a truck’s large tires. The voices of my nearby neighbors, giggling from nextdoor, a calm conversation from the kitchen, the football players shouting at each other from down the hall. And of course, the wind. The deafening, almost fearful cry of the gusts as they tear through the campus. The hostile way that it slaps the snow against the brick walls of my building, the churning of the snow as it spins into itself. All of these sounds were able to make their way to the forefront of my mind because of the simplicity and isolation of my personal space.
– Hadley Tavernier
Sanford Mall, the grass is blanketed in a powdery layer of snow. The sidewalks, though cleared, are bleached-white from the excessive usage of salt, a testament to the relentless effort of either the city of Boone or the school to keep ice away in order to prevent any slips or injuries. Students and pedestrians move through the space, their focus locked on their phones or conversations, completely oblivious to the world around them. Occasionally, the distant call of a crow echoes above, it makes me wonder what the crows thinks of all this alteration caused to nature. Beyond the sea of hurried students, no other signs of life are visible aside from the trees—if any animals remain, they are likely tucked away in warmer shelters, avoiding the cold that came with the winter.
By 12:05, the sidewalks have essentially emptied, leaving behind silence. The occasional hum of passing cars on River Street punctuates the quiet, accompanied only by the faint murmurs of the few remaining passersby. From the tower near the central dining hall, plumes of smoke or steam rise into the crisp air, a reminder of the unseen activity within the campus. College tour groups occasionally weave their way through the mall, ensuring that Boone’s overcrowding remains constant and unchanging. Nothing truly changes, new students will replace the old who have graduated or transferred away, and the campus will remain packed with students who rarely take a moment to appreciate the world around them.
-Connor Kuharcik
West Boone, North Carolina/Early Spring/Friday, February 21st 2025/ 12:00pm
I traveled a short distance here. I’m at the apartment complex that I lived in last year, positioned somewhere along the hazy line where King Street becomes US-421. The rent here was about two times what I’m paying this year, but the property has a priceless trait. Below the short retaining wall in the parking lot, there is a patch of soft, mossy land with a grill, a picnic table, and two adirondack chairs. The roots of trees at their bases spread across the mossy landscape like veins on a hand. I can’t see them but I can feel them beneath my soles as I walk toward the chairs. I wipe a chair clean of the sparkly snow it held in its seat and I take its place. It’s quite cold, 29 degrees but I’m feeling even colder as the wind caresses my skin. These aren’t the winds that make the leaves talk as they rustle across one another, these are the winds that sound deeper, darker, and scarier, in a way. They sound like they come from a giant chest, pushed out by the huge mouth of a muscular body, and they mean business. Timber creaks and cracks, occasionally clunking as it bumps against another of its kind. I could and would have walked here, weather permitting. Just a few feet in front of me, I reunite with what was once my most favorable (and convenient) homework spot. The area is quite small but I’ve come to know it as an oasis where I can indulge without hindrance to the busy demands of my work and school life. It actually served as more than a homework space, I would frequently crochet, collage, hammock, nap, eat, read, and socialize here. It’s my little section of Boone Creek, where in the early fall semester and late spring semester, my homework breaks consisted of dipping my feet in its cold, calm waters, sun beaming on just one side of my face. It’s not actually mine, it’s no one’s but everyone’s at once. I would frequently be met with another spirit enjoying the space, just as frequently met with a response of “Of course!” to my question of “Can I join you out here?” I won’t be indulging in the water today, but I sure am eager for the instant the weather calls me back into the chilly but refreshing currents. Man, do I miss looking out my living room window, seeing this sight. Like Thoreau, I hold beliefs that we should not only be readers and scholars, but listeners and seers. We should spiritually admire and crave nature, it completes us:
“But while we are confined to books, though the most select and classic, and read only particular written languages, which are themselves but dialects and provincial, we are in danger of forgetting the language which all things and events speak without metaphor, which alone is copious and standard. Much is published, but little printed.” (Thoreau, 113)
I lay my head back, dim my eyes, and listen. I’m familiar with what I hear, the same sounds I heard in a muffled version from inside my old apartment, living room windows typically as open as they could get. I always say that I miss this apartment, but really I think I mean to say that I miss having these sights and sounds just feet from my front door. In Walden, the text reads “The rays which stream through the shutter will be no longer remembered when the shutter is wholly removed” (Thoreau, 113), which is especially resemblant to me at this moment. The soundscape of this location is at the intersection of biophony, geophony, and anthrophony. When it was warm, the songs and melodies, shrieks and cries, caws and chirps of various bird species overlay the gentle trickle of the water, creating one of the most enjoyable tunes. On occasion, my cat would playfully chirp back at the birds, enviously staring at me down below the windowsill where she sits, unable to reach the birds. The sweet and soft dialogue between them always brought a smile to my face. For now, the birds are tucked away in their own insulation, trying to stay warm, or perhaps somewhere warmer, waiting on the weather to call them back to the mountains. It’s easy to hone in on the whispering sound of the creek’s running water, so that’s what I do. As other sounds come and go, the solace of the current stays put– a constant source of relaxation within this bustling life. It’s a calm swoosh undertoned with the dainty trickle of the water interacting with its ravine. Just a few hundred feet away, other spirits are engaged in other endeavors. Their cars aggressively rumble, whoosh, and clunk, flying by hurriedly. I too, am guilty of polluting once beautiful, peaceful, unbothered soundscapes, as I frequently make my way around town in my car. I wish it wasn’t this way. I’m glad that the apartment building serves as a sound buffer, lying between 421 and Boone Creek. The soundscape of the highway already clashes with the melody sung by my little Boone Creek beach, and without the buffer of the building, I don’t know that I’d hardly enjoy my spot. An alarm sounds– my thirty minutes is up, but once again I lay my head back and close my eyes for 5 more minutes of melody before I cross back to the other side of the building, where the sounds of hustle and bustle overwhelm those of the creek and the wind.
-Carson Mease
For my location, I chose to stand outside of the gym as I was waiting for it to open. The day I chose to do this is Saturday, 2/8/2025 at 9:50 am. I was standing next to the gym in the middle of winter in Boone. I was standing outside of the gym to wait for it to open, I heard the birds chirping and the slight wind blowing. I also heard the low hum of the cars driving by on the roads next to the gym. There were also people talking because there were other people waiting for the gym to open.
The reason why I chose this specific spot is because I really like going to the gym a lot. I also really like going there early (on the weekends) before the gym opens so I could spend some time outside before I go inside to work out to also listen to the birds chirping and other sounds that being outside brings. I also really like standing out in the sun too. Standing out in the sun and being outside of the gym listening to the birds chirping in the morning is something I really like doing because it’s really relaxing and peaceful.
The “keynote” sounds that I remember hearing that would compose of this specific location are other people talking around me, the birds chirping, sometimes the wind blowing (if it is a windy day), and the hum of cars driving by on the roads next to the gym. These specific sounds are the things that contribute the most and show up the most when I’m standing outside of the gym on the weekends and waiting for the gym to open.
Ciara Gurganus
My spot was chosen almost entirely out of convenience. To get to and from my apartment, I have to walk past Durham Park, there is no way around it. I was sitting in Durham Park, alone, enjoying my own company, but I was not alone entirely. Around me there was life of all sorts, the weather was not a deterrence for life to stop living. It was chilly out but not insufferable when sitting in the sun, shielded from the brisk wind.
The sounds around me rarely differed during the duration of my sit. Because it was the weekend, there was limited human interaction. Yes, people were out and about, as evidenced by the loud, boisterous rumble of lifted pick-up trucks and the revving of engines on River Street and Blowing Rock Road; but not many slowing down and taking in their surroundings. Even with the large gusts of wind blowing deafeningly past my ears, there was no way to block out the mechanical sounds of human life. During my sit, it was common to hear drivers blasting all genres of music from their car speakers. Crude and brash rap was what I heard most frequently, often split up by the squealing of the Appalcart breaks.
Thankfully, there were temporary, isolated moments of primarily natural sounds. These moments were filled with Boone Creek’s almost playful splashing against the rocks and continuing downstream. The creek was louder than usual because it was swollen due to the snow and ice melt coming from upstream. The creek’s lapping and splashing was paired beautifully with the scurrying of a limited number of squirrels and the cheerful singing and chirping of birds. The singing of cardinals was particularly prominent.
The tree branches swaying in the wind overhead made little to no noise at all. Aside from the sound of tree branches bumping into each other, in a careless kind of way, almost as if they were dancing to a song that I was not aware was playing.
“The morning wind forever blows, the poem of creation is uninterrupted; but few are the ears that hear it.” (pg. 81)
Many people overlook how much we are surrounded by nature and natural things. When you wake up in the morning, do you not hear the singing of birds? When it is storming outside do you not hear the whistling of the wind? Do you take it at face value or do you see the importance of your surroundings?
Kendall Nerenberg
My home, East Boone, NC, 2:00pm, February 23rd, 2025
For this assignment, I chose to sit in my grandparents’ yard in Boone, NC to observe the soundscape that blends the natural world with the more subtle man-made elements. The sun was shining warmly through the trees as the wind blew gently. From my spot, I could hear the hum of the breeze as it moved through the dense forest surrounding the valley, the occasional creaking of the old pines. Just beside me, I heard the sound of a car driving down a gravel road, a gentle reminder of human presence in this otherwise quiet, natural place.
The remnants of the recent icing were visible, with tree limbs scattered across the yard, still bearing the marks of their battle with nature. The views around me were dominated by the surrounding trees – some standing tall, while others now lay broken and crumbled by the storm. The silence of the scene was broken only by the faint creaking of the trees, as their remaining limbs swayed slightly in the quiet air. This natural disarray, though a sign of destruction, also held a sense of calm, marking the cyclical process of life and decay in the forest.
My dog, Roo, was nearby, sniffing around and exploring, his paws crunching softly on the frozen ground. Every now and then, he would chase after a stray twig or bark excitedly at a distant noise, his small, playful sounds blending with the soft creaking of the trees and the occasional snap of branches. His presence added a sense of liveliness to the scene, a stark contrast to the stillness of the bare, winter landscape, and yet, it was all part of the same natural rhythm.
A different kind of quiet came from the nearby grapevines, their tangled branches clinging to the post my grandfather built over 30 years ago. The subtle rustle of the vines, when moved by the wind, created a soft, almost melodic sound. Just past this, the blueberry bushes were still dormant for the season, but I could hear the occasional chirp of a bird flitting between them, perhaps looking for a snack, but being sorely disappointed. The apple tree, old and weathered, stood in between the grapes and blueberries, the branches bare, resting before another year of harvest. The combination of nature’s sounds – the wind, the birds, the snapping of branches – was in constant conversation with the nearby presence of the old house, where the occasional sound of my grandparents moving inside could be heard: the soft creak of floorboards, the murmur of voices through the window.
From the front yard, the view opened up to the valley below, stretching out with a tranquil beauty. The river looped around the landscape, its waters flowing steadily, creating a soft, rhythmic sound that blended with the overall calm of the scene. Across the bridge, I could see the broken fencing at our neighbor’s house, a stark reminder of the power of Hurricane Helene that had passed through months ago. The storm had left its mark on this special little valley I grew up in: Trees missing, torn from their roots out of the earth, farm machinery flooded, roads washed away, and more. Despite the past damage, nature has shown its resilience. There was a serene quality, with the river’s flow providing a sense of peace, as if nature was quietly reclaiming what had been disrupted. The contrast between the tranquil river and the evidence of past storms felt like a quiet dialogue between the natural world and the remnants of human structures, enduring together in the landscape.
This location is ecologically unique, not just because of the diversity of plant and animal life that it sustains, but also due to the way human history intertwines with the environment. The grapevines, blueberry bushes, and apple tree are all cultivated, tended to by my grandfather for years, while the trees and wildlife carry on their ancient rhythms. The sounds reflect this connection—between nature’s unpredictability and the steadiness of the home that has stood through the seasons. The soundscape, where human and natural sounds coexist, reminds me that while life goes on in a seemingly unchanging cycle, it is also shaped by the touch of human hands.
-Kendall Williamson
February 23, 2025, Mid Afternoon starting around 3:00pm
Winter: 25 days until the Spring Solstice – Iona Blackburn
This assignment was done behind my apartment, around the Lowe’s Food building. The reason I chose this place was because I find myself feeling more at home in Boone. Finally, I found a place within the mountains that I can call my own. I find comfort in Howards Knob watching over me. The reason I mention above that it’s 25 days until the Spring Solstice is because you can hear the world starting to wake up. I hear more birds than I’ve ever seen in the past weeks; they must be talking of their spring plans. It’s slightly windy today, making each branch brush against one another. However, while it’s cold, the wind’s touch and sound are faint. Other people may think it’s loud when you are in the front of the apartment building but behind it lies brush, trees, and many birds. On the weekends, it’s peaceful. The elementary school is right by so in the warm mornings, you can hear children laughing and talking. That honestly doesn’t feel like a track in the anthrophony, children’s voices feel like sisters alongside the birds’ voices but nevertheless, today I heard silence from the elementary school field. It’s a unique spot because this large patch of trees and brush can be easily ignored despite being a relief to my ear daily. Every day that I open and peer out my windows, my cat at my side, it feels as if the birds welcome us (or, they welcome me, not my cat). This small world gives me joy, despite the far-off discordant symphony of the cars passing by. Thoreau writes in his chapter, Solitude, “I was so distinctly made aware of the presence of something kindred to me, even in scenes which we are accustomed to call wild and dreary, and also that the nearest of blood to me and the humanest was not a person nor a villager, that I thought no place could ever be strange to me again” (Thoreau 125). This area, soon to be green, has enough energy, even within winter, to make me feel aware of this presence that Thoreau felt as well.
I hear the branches brushing softly together, simple wood and pine needles greeting one another. I hear the consistent hum of cars. I hear the cacophony of at least five different birds chatting and singing, a whole group of them above are talking of something (I am embarrassed to not know their names). I hear the birds who are chatting, their tone going up and down, up, and down. I hear a bird break out in joyful song, periodically. I hear EMS vehicles racing down 421, sirens wailing, this happens once every few hours. I hear the wind, gently passing through this patch of woods. I hear the occasionally jarring sounds of a tractor trailer cutting through the air, seeming to be racing along the highway. I hear the birds go silent every time the tractor trailer introduces itself. I hear the leaves rustling as a bird hunts for something to eat. I hear the faint trickle of water as a miniscule creek runs along where all the trees stand. I hear the vague slow drops of water as the snow piled up melts away. I hear the excited tone of people from the apartment buildings, a shout sporadically. I hear some odd repeating, mechanical sound emanating from behind the Lowe’s Foods. I hear an intermittent honk of someone’s car.
I agree with Krause and Thoreau in that nature is truly a composer and is one of the most underappreciated forms of music. I think that the human additions to this musical composition can be welcoming such as the general background hum of vehicles, reminiscent of white noise. However, it easily begins to be too much. The atmosphere is a peculiar melding of both humans and nature. However, as mentioned previously, the most jarring and sudden “notes” within the orchestra are mechanical. The keynote sounds and melodies I hear are from the cars and the birds. The birds will be the main vocalists come spring and summer. This environment is also positioned to where if there is a rainstorm, rain is the main voice. She bounces off the apartment’s exterior walls, falls into the creek, bounces against the leaves and branches of the trees. The wind is her fellow vocalist, moving the branches. That is the only time where anthrophony fades to the background and becomes almost non-existent. I wish for these times to multiply, not only when there is rain but sun as well like today.
It is currently 1:00 PM on Sunday, February 23rd, and it is a cool winter day. I am sitting on my back porch looking out over my yard. I live about 10 minutes west of Boone so there is never really too much traffic outside of the 9-5 traffic at the beginning and end of the day, hence why I am out here midday. As I am sitting out here listening to the various sounds around me, some are more prevalent than others.
One of the classic backdrops of the Boone area is the constant rustling of leaves in the wind. The wind for me is one of those sounds that brings along a physical sensation when I hear it. Even though I am relatively protected from the wind on my porch, just the sound of it often gives me a chill. All throughout my time absorbing my soundscape the wind remained a relatively constant geophony. The past few months of harsh weather seemed to have left my yard temporarily void of wildlife, with the exception of the occasional bird song being the only notable biophony. I often hear them off in the distance, higher up on the mountain where my apartment building is on, frolicking about in the more wooded areas. I love hearing the birds sing in their sharp tones, as it is a subtle reminder of warmer weather that is soon to come. My time sitting outside has been relatively peaceful, almost exclusively listening to the sounds of the natural world. Every once in a while one of my neighbors will start their car or pull into the parking lot at my building disrupting the natural world with the ever so slight anthrophony. The low rumble of my neighbor’s truck pulling into my driveway is almost so resonant I can feel it. It is a stark contrast to the soft sounds of nature.
“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.” -HDT.
I have found this assignment to be deeply therapeutic and it practices this quote from Walden almost to a tee. It has been quite some time since I have sat and done nothing but simply thought about my surroundings and I found it deeply refreshing, in an especially stressful time of life. I think that my apartment building is a place that most people who live here take for granted. It is a place to get out of the elements, not sit and absorb the world around it despite the fact that it is rather rural. This experience has taught me that I can find beauty anywhere and I think I will have to start discovering soundscapes in unlikely places more often.
-Jack Brion
https://earth.google.com/web/search/The+Standard+at+Boone,+Blowing+Rock+Road,+Boone,+NC/@36.20626081,-81.67225287,958.90478516a,0d,17.81230914y,71.48906816h,81.00418207t,0r/data=CqIBGnQSbgolMHg4ODUwZmEwZTk0NTdlYWViOjB4ZDMyNWFjYzc5ZGY2OGRjZBkcbPtoghpCQCGUi4xpAWtUwCozVGhlIFN0YW5kYXJkIGF0IEJvb25lLCBCbG93aW5nIFJvY2sgUm9hZCwgQm9vbmUsIE5DGAEgASImCiQJqnasJs61SkARYcOSgMeuSkAZ3SWR5ynNGMAhLGPwB6EnGcBCAggBIhoKFlpYVllZZC1HMkpISnFnWFQ2SGRoZ3cQAjoDCgEwQgIIAEoNCP___________wEQAA
For my soundscape assignment I decided to take some time and sit in the yard of my apartment. On Faculty street, behind The Standard.
This yard is a small backyard area to the apartment complex, it is located beside a small creek, as well as a road.
I went out about 6pm on February 23rd, right before sunset. It is a late winter/early spring evening, the temperature was in the high thirties, on the colder side.
Immediately, I noticed the sounds of cars. Which didn’t come from the road right beside the yard, but sounds of cars in the distance on the opposite side of the apartment building on Blowing Rock Road, and on the 105, to my left side down the road. There were some cars passing by on the road near me, but definitely not as much as those busier roads in the distance. I could also hear cars driving in the parking deck of the complex, as it is close to the yard as well. The cars in the distance sounded like fast and aggressive whooshes. While the cars driving parallel to the yard sounded slower, as they were driving slower, almost a calmer whooshing sound.
Because of this, the experience wasn’t as peaceful as I expected it to be, but it’s not bad for being a few minutes walking distance away from my bed.
Although I did take note of some of the natural sounds in the area. I noticed the sounds of the wind hitting the trees. Ruffling of leaves and light whistling sounds, which was accentuated when cars were at a standstill. This sound did provide a soothing and refreshing atmosphere, to escape the type of industrial and mechanical aspects of everyday life. The sounds of the trees aren’t artificial and predictable.
I can also hear the sounds of the creek water running under the bridge. It sounds cleansing and fresh, similar to the trees. Natural and free-flowing.
When thinking about non-humans experiencing this area, like dogs, which I see a lot of residents bringing their dogs to walk in the yard, it is an effective way for non-humans to experience and benefit from. Non-humans can experience the textures of the grass and trees, the sounds of the water, the smells and aromas. As for non-humans it definitely doesn’t compare to the uninterrupted and wild places of nature, it’s urbanized.
A quote that we discussed in class from Thoreau, which goes as follows, “I experienced sometimes that the most sweet and tender, the most innocent and encouraging society may be found in any natural object, even for the poor misanthrope and most melancholy man. There can be no very black melancholy to him who lives in the midst of Nature and has his senses still. There was never yet such a storm but it was Aeolian music to a healthy and innocent ear” (131)
Which caused me to think about the healing and soothing powers of nature for a college student like me. When Thoreau says, “the poor misanthrope and most melancholy man” I thought of a young student who is studying, being able to distance themselves from the stressors of life and school and being able to be within nature, and doing something as simple as identifying natural and man-made sounds and thinking about the emotions, energy, and feeling that come from it.
The soundscape of this setting is both one of an organic nature, sparking feelings of zen, unrestricted, and earthly. While also being interrupted by the aspects of the location of the yard, sounds from cars driving in all different directions are unavoidable. These fast, humming, and artificial sounds of machinery can disturb the peace, but as they slow down and pause every few minutes the natural sounds are amplified. Refreshing sounds of water, crackling and shuffling sounds of leaves free flowing. Being able to identify and react to these sounds directs the mind to healing and cleansing properties of nature, which we as humans neglect and overlook.
Abbey Smith
Sophia Hall
Winter: Saturday, February 8, 2025, around 2:30 pm, Brookshire Park, Boone, NC
On a warmer winter’s day in February, I took the afternoon to be outside and enjoy the beautiful nature of the town I live in. I hadn’t previously been to Brookshire Park, so I figured I should check out a new place. At this park, there are picnic tables, sports fields (where our soccer team practices), and greenway walking trails along the New River. I took my time walking along these paths and enjoying the weather and mountain views. Along the New River, there is significant damage on the riverbanks from Hurricane Helene. This was the first thing I noticed, and I spent quite a bit of my walk thinking about everything that had happened from the hurricane.
As I reached the end of the paved section of the greenway that runs along the river, I noticed the most peculiar noise. It grew louder as I moved closer to the end, and I tried to figure out what was making the noise. It was so unique that I even recorded a video to send to my grandpa, who might know the animal. While listening to it, I remembered that in a few weeks, we had a soundscape assignment for class and thought this would be the perfect time to do it. The noise sounded like it could be turkeys or birds in the trees. When I thought more about it, the sound somewhat resembled the noise that happens when you skip a rock on ice, something I used to do as a kid. While recording a video, I had my camera focused on the woods as I approached. There was a smaller stream between me and the woods, and I planned on getting close enough to see if I could find any birds in the trees. I slowed my steps close to the water and realized the sound was coming from right in front of me. As I took one step closer, I heard the sound decrease in volume and the splashing of water. Looking down, I realized it was frogs making the noise!
This reshaped my perspective as I watched the many frogs jump into the water and swim around. I had been looking up in the trees when the real answer was down in front of me. The unique noises of the frogs were certainly the “keynote sounds” of my experience. After this encounter with the frogs, I decided to sit down in the grass and listen to everything else going on around me. Once I became fully present in that moment and truly listened to my surroundings, I started to hear more, hearing things I would not normally pay any attention to. I lay in the grass, listening to the wind blowing through the trees and rustling the leaves. I heard critters that I couldn’t place moving around in the brush. In the distance, there was the sound of tires on asphalt as cars rushed down 421 with places to be. I could hear the footsteps of fellow hikers as they traversed the path, the sounds differing whether they were walking on concrete, gravel, leaves, or grass. As I started my walk again, I began to pick up on and notice little changes in the spaces around me. I heard my own breathing increase and become deeper as I walked uphill and then shallow out on downhill sections. I listened to the rushing water of the New River and the trickle of smaller streams and runoff waterfalls.
When exploring my experience in the context of Thoreau’s Walden, there is a quote from his “Sounds” chapter that I believe fits in with the soundscape I heard. Thoreau writes, “At evening, the distant lowing of some cow in the horizon beyond the woods sounded sweet and melodious, and at first I would mistake it for the voices of certain minstrels by whom I was sometimes serenaded, who might be straying over hill and dale; but soon I was not unpleasantly disappointed when it was prolonged into the cheap and natural music of the cow” (Page 122, Kindle edition). This quote aligns with my experience of not understanding where the noise I was hearing was coming from. I mistook it for turkeys or perhaps birds, but then I realized it was frogs, and I was pleasantly surprised!
Thinking of my soundscape experience in the context of Bernie Krause’s research, I can expand my descriptions using his terms of biophony, geophony, and anthrophony. Biophony was the most prominent in the acoustics of my locations, coming from the frogs. After that would be geophony in the form of rushing water from the river. Finally, anthrophony was the least noticeable, as I could hear some distant cars, and this would be the one I classify as “aural litter.”
I enjoyed really tuning in to the natural sounds on my walk and gaining a deeper appreciation for the things I would normally let fade into the background noise! I’ve included a Google Drive link to some pictures and videos I took during my experience if you’re interested! (https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1XxuvoS93lY_ncxKqOgre3tLT9Ouf4oSA?usp=sharing)
Sophia Hall
Winter, February 8, 2025, around 2:30 pm, Brookshire Park, Boone, NC
On a warmer winter’s day in February, I took the afternoon to be outside and enjoy the beautiful nature of the town I live in. I hadn’t previously been to Brookshire Park, so I figured I should check out a new place. At this park, there are picnic tables, sports fields (where our soccer team practices), and greenway walking trails along the New River. I took my time walking along these paths and enjoying the weather and mountain views. Along the New River, there is significant damage on the riverbanks from Hurricane Helene. This was the first thing I noticed, and I spent quite a bit of my walk thinking about everything that had happened from the hurricane.
As I reached the end of the paved section of the greenway that runs along the river, I noticed the most peculiar noise. It grew louder as I moved closer to the end, and I tried to figure out what was making the noise. It was so unique that I even recorded a video to send to my grandpa, who might know the animal. While listening to it, I remembered that in a few weeks, we had a soundscape assignment for class and thought this would be the perfect time to do it. The noise sounded like it could be turkeys or birds in the trees. When I thought more about it, the sound somewhat resembled the noise that happens when you skip a rock on ice, something I used to do as a kid. While recording a video, I had my camera focused on the woods as I approached. There was a smaller stream between me and the woods, and I planned on getting close enough to see if I could find any birds in the trees. I slowed my steps close to the water and realized the sound was coming from right in front of me. As I took one step closer, I heard the sound decrease in volume and the splashing of water. Looking down, I realized it was frogs making the noise!
This reshaped my perspective as I watched the many frogs jump into the water and swim around. I had been looking up in the trees when the real answer was down in front of me. The unique noises of the frogs were certainly the “keynote sounds” of my experience. After this encounter with the frogs, I decided to sit down in the grass and listen to everything else going on around me. Once I became fully present in that moment and truly listened to my surroundings, I started to hear more, hearing things I would not normally pay any attention to. I lay in the grass, listening to the wind blowing through the trees and rustling the leaves. I heard critters that I couldn’t place moving around in the brush. In the distance, there was the sound of tires on asphalt as cars rushed down 421 with places to be. I could hear the footsteps of fellow hikers as they traversed the path, the sounds differing whether they were walking on concrete, gravel, leaves, or grass. As I started my walk again, I began to pick up on and notice little changes in the spaces around me. I heard my own breathing increase and become deeper as I walked uphill and then shallow out on downhill sections. I listened to the rushing water of the New River and the trickle of smaller streams and runoff waterfalls.
When exploring my experience in the context of Thoreau’s Walden, there is a quote from his “Sounds” chapter that I believe fits in with the soundscape I heard. Thoreau writes, “At evening, the distant lowing of some cow in the horizon beyond the woods sounded sweet and melodious, and at first I would mistake it for the voices of certain minstrels by whom I was sometimes serenaded, who might be straying over hill and dale; but soon I was not unpleasantly disappointed when it was prolonged into the cheap and natural music of the cow” (Page 122, Kindle edition). This quote aligns with my experience of not understanding where the noise I was hearing was coming from. I mistook it for turkeys or perhaps birds, but then I realized it was frogs and I was pleasantly surprised!
Thinking of my soundscape experience in the context of Bernie Krause’s research, I can expand my descriptions using his terms of biophony, geophony, and anthrophony. Biophony was the most prominent in the acoustics of my locations, coming from the frogs. After that would be geophony in the form of rushing water from the river. Finally, anthrophony was the least noticeable, as I could hear some distant cars, and this would be the one I classify as “aural litter.”
I enjoyed really tuning in to the natural sounds on my walk and gaining a deeper appreciation for the things I would normally let fade into the background noise! I’ve included a Google Drive link to some pictures and videos I took during my experience if you’re interested! (https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1XxuvoS93lY_ncxKqOgre3tLT9Ouf4oSA?usp=sharing)
The Greenway, Boone, NC
February 23, 2025 at 6:00pm
I am in the back of my SUV with the trunk open. There are several cars parked nearby, occasionally some of them let out a high-pitched, repetitive beep as their driver approaches. I wonder how we all wound up here communally while sharing vastly different lives. Are we imposing ourselves on this ecosystem with our man-made sounds? My fingertips are cold and pink and the air is dry. It smells the way it always does. It’s so quiet I have to focus on the sounds around me, otherwise I’ll pay too close attention to my breath. I can feel it slowing as I push my back against the seat relaxing into the space.
There are birds in the distance faintly singing, they seem to be engulfing the area because the direction of them I could not say. The sky is clear, mixed with colors of blue and purple. Occasionally while looking up I see a bird pass by in solitude. Momentarily the wind whistles loudly while climbing the tree limbs to reach the leaves. They begin to rustle. Now and then a car will gain a shutter of life disrupting the silence of the area. They rattle and hum as the engine breathes. As the tires hush among the rocky drive, the quietness is restored and the birds, my breath, and the rhythms of the wind are no longer drowned out by human intervention. I am reminded of Thoreau’s response to the railroad and urbanization, I question if I should have chosen a more secluded spot. And wonder about the development that over time will change the scenery.
I do gain something from the busyness of this spot. It is not the sound itself but the harmony of all of these components synchronously. It seems to fit together, perhaps in a way they do. They are all the sounds of this area, at this moment. It’s 6:28, and the sky is finally starting to rose over. There are not as many people around anymore and I prefer it this way. I am completely immersed in this environment and a product of its soundscape. An observer of the ecosystem. I relate this to Thoreau, as I sit and listen. I don’t feel alone, although I am in the absence of company. I am drawn to the quote “I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude (Solitude, Thoreau).” In this moment, I feel more connected to the space in which I am in that if I were in the company of a friend. I question how Thoreau would have described this area if he had been immersed in it. Would he have critiques the traffic, or remarked on the bird song?
-Ava Allen
It sounds worn out to hear the bus stop outside and the whirring of cars around the mountain where I live. It’s late in the afternoon, and the bus stops in front of the building, letting out a loud sigh. Sitting behind my apartment, the crows pluck the plastic bags from the trash, hoping to find a stray scrap of food. The wind outside is strong, and the trees around me sway to the sound of invisibility. It’s winter, and patches of snow, which fell a few days ago, crunch beneath the feet of two pairs of boots. Sounds of laughter echo through the parking lot, and the sound of the door shutting scatters the crows to the lamppost above. The squirrels sprint across the grass, their tiny feet scuffling on the frozen ground. Today’s winter soundscape is sparse and lonely, making time pass slowly. The cars have become more frequent now, their loud rushing overtaking the other sounds. This unnatural soundscape of city and nature has become comforting to me. I wish spring would come soon, the sound of wildlife overtaking these man-made sounds I’ve made home to. They say that “nothing in nature blooms all year.” I believe that winter is the time when all living things slow down and take a break. I believe nature is its own composer, forming a harmonious melody with its ecosystems. Industrial sounds have interrupted and paused this melody, interjecting its screeching and high-pitched noises. Being outside makes me miss the nostalgic sounds of my childhood, which seemed much more vibrant back then. “Sometimes, on a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, 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…” Thoreau’s depiction of his environment makes me yearn to be out in nature more, to notice every little parcel that nature has to offer me. As a child, the sounds were smooth and vibrant, like mint leaves in lemonade. Cardinals flitting through branches, bees buzzing around the flowers, and the gentle hum of cicadas filled the air. As a child, the sounds of the earth beneath my bare feet and the rustle of leaves in the wind filled the air, like a secret melody between me and the wilderness. The stars watched over me, and I was convinced if I whispered just right, they might grant me a wish. I don’t see the stars anymore, covered by the light pollution of the lampposts.
-Aura Cochran
The place that I chose to sit with in nature was on campus because I had an eye-opening experience that brought me back into reality and made me appreciate nature again after I neglected it for so long. I chose to sit in the area on campus by the walkway between Ranken and the library. I chose this location because I as a student walking to class every morning I listen to music and rock and roll my way to each class. I ride the bus every morning so I tend to drown out the bus noises with music and I tend to listen to my music a little too loud and for whatever reason this morning as I walked up the stairs by Edwin Dunkin and Peacock I too my ear buds and found myself transported back into reality. The early morning did not have much sound at all as the only things making noise at none o clock in the morning were some birds. I took notice of how peaceful the morning was because the night before there was a bad storm. The environment was trying to recover after a long night and to was interesting to experience such a peaceful time with many people walking to class. I wanted to reexperience this at a later time so I went around one o clock to experience how this time of day would sound. The spot that I chose to enjoy with nature was also surrounded by development and I think that was what I was trying to achieve when tackling this assignment. The incorporation of the nature surrounds with the sounds of every day App State traffic. There were many noises that impaired my connection to nature because there were many buses coming in and out of the lot to transport students and the traffic was bad for being the middle of the day. Construction can be heard from anywhere on campus and being right there by Edwin Dunkin put me right in the noise epicenter. The number of different noises can be connected to the season and time. This is the time of year that Boone is experiencing school being in session and having the maximum amount of people in the area that will create any noise. The thing that I have tuned out of society with my time being in Boone is the number of sirens that go off every day. It seems to be normal that an emergency vehicle has to constantly be going at all times and this could be because mire people are now in the area and more people will need help. I felt like a lizard laying on a rock as I was resting on the spot I chose on the side of the stairs. The stone stair case was a great place to see all forces interact as once. I even almost fell asleep because I was so relaxed. I was not in the way of anyone passing by and it was interesting to se people walking for different reasons. Everyone does live very similar experiences and that could be seen by those who were hurrying to class or talking to their friends after class. The weather in Boone has created an extended winter that has been felt with the temperature and sitting outside made me think about the temperature makes me think about what I am looking at. The reflective snow on the ground creates an almost glowing effect while the clouds are grey and this makes me think about how there are many contrasts in the world. The modern world has been taken away from nature with “Of all the ways invented to come at knowledge of a living man, this seems to me the worst, as it is the most belated.” (Thoreau, 23). Humans have created a world that covers nature in concreate and metal and expends everything to be fine. The natural cycles can not longer function with the world the way it has become. Animal sounds will be lost by traffic and can put the lives of everything in danger if the natural world comes to close to the man-made world.
-Vincent Spinelli
I chose to reflect on the sounds of man and nature in Durham Park, one of my favorite spots on campus when it is warm and sunny out. Although, today there is a thin layer of snow remaining from earlier this week, I still enjoy being able to admire the noises of the small stream and naked trees blowing in the wind in the park during the winter. I was alone for most of the time, with the occasional stranger walking through to go to and from classes. When it is a nice day, there are usually several groups of students sitting in their hammocks and playing music. Today it was very quiet which allowed me to really listen to the sound of the wind, which was frequently interrupted by the squealing of bus breaks at the bus stop just around the corner. The water was flowing fast in the creek due to all the snow that has been melting the past couple of days. The quick murmuring of the water was very relaxing, while the quick gusts of cold wind shocked my body. I did not notice any sounds of wildlife, like chirping of birds or rustling of branches from a squirrel.
Some people would find sitting in Durham Park in February painful with the climate, but I think it is important to reflect on places we enjoy in more favorable conditions during the winter. It is special to be able to understand that nature is a cycle, and a beautiful spring day with robust greenery and wildlife is not possible without a cold and dull winter. It also makes you appreciate beautiful days when they happen, when you are familiar with the winter phase. Reflecting on this area in the spring, how perfect it can be, also makes me question if the park is at all natural, or was it a man-made park to replicate a natural environment. The loud noises of traffic distract me from connecting with nature at some points. It made me think about Thoreau’s point of how we need to fully engulf ourselves in a completely natural setting, untouched by man to have a connection with the natural world, and how therapeutic this change can be.
This reflection has furthered my appreciation for taking time to analyze man made and natural aspects of my daily life, and I will most definitely return to Durham Park with the seasons change to see how it differs from the present.
Amelia Hagen
Walden’s Sounds chapter was written during the warmer summer months because “[blackberry vines and strawberry leaves]” do not grow widely during the winter (Pg.107). It’s easier to write about loud living and environmental sounds in warmer climates because most land-based creatures require warmth for optimal functioning. Where there is Earthly warmth, there are certainly living Earthly sounds. During the winter months, there is a lifeless sound. Stale and eerie cold chills fill the air nipping at the human nose and ear. Chilly winds pierce the eyes creating excessive tearing, but it’s a natural reflex. A century ago, only natural and elemental sounds broke through the silence in the winter months. The winter sounds creep through the ear creating a false sense to watch behind your back. Humans then typically hunkered down and watched all sides, eating leftovers, and curling up into a corner. Today, man-made technology contributes to all seasonal sounds, which blocks the human experience of understanding foundational perceptions.
It was below freezing on Thursday, February 20, 2025. I can’t sit still in twenty-degree weather at four-thirty in the afternoon. The human body craves warmth, so moving my muscles around will keep my body chills at bay. I decided to take a walk on the Kennedy Trail with my girlfriend Sofie. The small trail can be considered a part of the Boone Greenway line, except this segmented portion of the trail is on compacted soil surrounded by wooded slopes and striking views of the greenway complex.
Sofie and I walked roughly two miles for forty-five minutes throughout the trail and came across too many sounds to count. Creaking and squeaking trees paused us in our tracks. Sofie wondered what it was and was fearful of another presence. I assured it was only rooted trees scraping at one another prompted by the chilly canopy winds. Our footsteps created no crunch due to the recent rain that day. Every living thing was wet with damp cold air surrounding it. Sofie was yearning to leave, but I pushed her on to keep a positive attitude. Sounds of bright human laughter could be heard from far away, presumably on the Boone Greenway trail, but we were too high on the mountain slope to see them. Most sounds were man-made vehicles like obnoxious planes or distant rushing cars that blocked us from hearing the peaceful and ominous silence. However, Sofie’s voice was a constant thrill to hear. Conversing with her brought a warming light into the winter scene, which made me glad I was with her.
February 23, 2025 at 10:31 was Evan Guiney
For this assignment, I spent some time on the front porch of my house on 194 by Lowes Foods. I sat outside this morning and took advantage of the warming weather. Unfortunately, I found this assignment a little frustrating, simply because of the lack of natural sounds in comparison to man-made ones. I am located right across the street from a busy church and a welding shop, both of which I would consider to be the keystones of my soundscape. There is constant traffic in and out of the parking lots and on my street, with consistent honking and revving of engines – noise. The welding place has all of the garage doors open, allowing the high-pitched beeps and low zaps to echo against the apartments beside me. These sounds are not new to me, but I found them to be particularly unpleasant when I had somewhat of a hope/expectation to hear something more intriguing instead.
However, I was able to enjoy some more likeable sounds as time passed, particularly the windchimes my roommates and I put up. Although the chimes are also manmade, I find them to be significantly more cheerful than the other sounds that surround my home. I also feel like it gives some sense of control as to what we hear all the time, it adds something nicer. We have three sets, and the tones mix harmoniously as the wind blows. The wind sounds low and almost hollow. When it settles, small birds approach our bird feeder. At one point I heard the flapping of wings as a bird settled on the ledge of the feeder. There are small taps as discarded seeds hit the wooden deck. Other birds inhabit trees in the distance, calling to each other and flying around. The calls were loud and raspy, those of crows. I thought I heard a woodpecker at one point, but it was actually a crow imitating one! I found that to be a fun surprise.
While there were some positive aspects of this soundscape, I cannot say I quite enjoyed it. Being located in such a busy area has some advantages in terms of efficiency and convenience, but I would absolutely trade it for a rural location with the same kind of soundscape as described in Walden. While reading that passage, I genuinely felt a sense of calm and peace imagining myself experiencing those sounds – particularly the wind through the trees. Listening to the traffic and mechanical sounds almost brought me a sense of anxiety. I would love to repeat this experience in a different, more secluded location, where the soundscape would consist of many more natural and subtle sounds.
Paige Kaine
For this assignment, I had a couple spots come to mind of where I wanted to go. I spend a lot of time in areas on campus, the greenway, parkway, or down by the river. My most frequented spot is a little further out though. About an hour from my house on Watauga Lake there is a recreation area, a spot that I get stubborn about sharing the name of because on pretty days it gets kind of busy. Nonetheless I will, because it’s a spot so good everyone deserves to experience it. It has a couple different picnic tables, grills, shelters, camping spots, and a boat ramp. In the off-season I like to park in one of the camping spots that are at the outermost point on the peninsula. Lately it’s been so cold that I will stay in my car while I do school work or have lunch but today was just warm and sunny enough to sit out by the water.
On really warm days I’ll come here and set up a hammock, swim with friends, set up a bonfire, fish, or kayak. For this I just sat on the rock edges. Usually the border has a wall of rocks with a beach that goes out 5-10 ft, but the water was so high it went up to the top of the wall. After taking a few deep breaths and listening to my surroundings the first to reach me are the birds sharp but soothing calls cutting through the air as they glide overhead, wings creating a patterned fluttering. Behind me, the highway hums in the distance, a steady undercurrent of mechanical noise. Brief moments of silence settle in between, making each sound more distinct. My favorite sound to break this silence is the crashing of the waves against the rocks from a boat going by, delayed till after the boat is no longer in sight. A truck’s low growl builds and fades, followed by the slower crunch of gravel under tires as a car moves carefully around the bend, breaking the pattern of thoughtless focus on the sounds & sights around me. Even when there’s other cars in the parking lot, it is rare that the anthrophony takes over the beautiful scenery here. Currently, the mountains are cast with the slightest amount of snow, and no leaves on the trees. Soon, the view and atmosphere will shift entirely, but for now, this moment of stillness and sound brings me peace.
This spot has a mix of natural and mechanical sounds with a good balance often outweighed with natural sounds. The keynote sounds here to me are the boats, birds, cars and waves. It varies completely by season though. Recently, when I’m here some days there might not be a single boat that goes by. In the summer though there could be 10-15 in the same time frame. In the summer there are way more activities followed by noise of people happily enjoying their time outside. For now though, the bird songs fill more of the space. The only aspect of the biophony here or at any of the other spots I visit that bothers me is the cars. I know it’s hypocritical, I drive too. They are just simply unpleasant and usually create a barrier between me and nature that I can only break when I go far enough away from them. Nonetheless they add to the unique audible atmosphere at this location and any other. I think nature is a composure of music, in the aspect that music is entertainment and the sounds of nature is something I can listen to for hours.
Corrin Dotson
Sofie Crump: Saturday Morning, on my balcony off of 105.
My apartment complex feels eerie in the early mornings and starkly different from the Boone I recognize as being my hometown. There is little sunlight reaching my balcony at this time of day, as it faces West rather than East, but this morning is much warmer than the past few have been. In the past week or two the sound of chirping birds has been far more present. Today they chirp loudly as the sun begins to rise. The complex acts as a sort of wind tunnel and the chirping of birds is occasionally interrupted by a large gust of wind. A neighbor takes their dog outside to walk. The grass is dead and frozen over and a light crunch can be heard as she and her dog walk around the complex. The streetlights lining the parking lot have yet to turn off and are quietly humming in the background of all of these sounds. Below the complex, cars rush by down 105. A large tanker truck can be heard pulling into the gas station directly below the complex. The breaks squeak, the doors shut, and the gas is pumped. Time continues to pass and the same sounds repeat themselves. The occasional bird chirps, the brief gusts of wind, the cars below rushing by, the occasional neighbor leaving their apartment to go to work.
I chose to perform my soundscape assignment at my apartment because of its urban setting. This setting is in vast contradiction to the setting of my childhood home and gave me a completely different perspective on the town I’ve lived in for nearly all of my life. My deep dive into the soundscape of my surroundings comes across as almost the exact opposite of Thoreau’s exploration. The urban sounds of people, cars, and humming lights are far different than the more rural sounds of animals, forests, and natural elements. The urban sounds of my surroundings completely dampen all sounds of animal life and activity and instead replace them with far louder sounds of anthropogenic activity. This is symbolic of how anthropogenic activity depletes the environment and snuffs out natural resources and biodiversity. This also highlights the shift in dynamics between humans and the environment that occurs when you move from rural settings into urban settings. My overall takeaway from this exploration is that a growing disconnect is occurring between humans and our environment. We are far less conscious of the environment’s workings around us and hardly pick up on the signs of its demise. Taking this time to be more present allows us to reflect on our impact on our environment as well as our complacency in its demise.
Soundscape Assignment
Jayce Park at Horn in the West:
4:30 pm on Sunday, February 23
Towards the end of February, there are a couple of days that feel like a preview to the upcoming spring days. On these types of days, I always make a point to visit my favorite park in Boone, the Jayce Park at Horn in the West. Luckily, today was one of those days. I spent time at my favorite spots in the park to observe the soundscapes around me. First I swung on the swings because that is always my first stop when I go to Jayce Park. I go to the swing that makes the least noise, but I still notice how loud the creaking from the metal on the swings is. In front of me I see a big group of what I assume to be friends and family gathering around the picnic tables and setting up their picnic. I heard kids laughing and playing while the adults are cooking and catching up. When I get dizzy from swinging, I go to my favorite spot and lay down my blanket. It is directly under a tree, and you can kind of sit in the bottom of the tree. It just feels like the spot was meant for someone to sit in. The leaves directly above me are being shuffled around by the wind, making a low and steady sound that sticks around for the rest of the evening. As I am sitting down with my eyes closed, taking in the sun and searching for sounds, I realize I am tuning out a sound that has been happening since I got out of my car—the sound of cars on the road. It is such an everyday experience to hear and see cars going from place to place on the road. It is sad to me that the one sound I drown out because I hear it the most is a human-generated sound and not one coming from the Earth or nature. I begin to journal this thought when it starts to sound familiar. Thoreau says something very similar about the sound of cars: “I watch the passage of the morning cars with the same feeling that I do the rising of the sun, which is hardly more regular.” (Walden, 110) I think he would agree with me that it is so sad that the sound of cars are just as promised as the sun rising in the morning, this allowing me to become completely desensitized to their noise. As I was writing down that thought in my journal, a stranger walked past me and said, “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?” The timing felt perfect. I was just upset about how, in the spot I picked to do my soundscape on, I was hearing mostly only cars, and then he said that. And he was right; it was the most beautiful day I have seen in a while. I really needed this, and it seemed like a lot of other people did too. We have all been cooped up in our snow clothes and staying inside because of the weather more than we should be, and it shows when, on the first beautiful day in a while, everyone ran to spend time outside. I say, “Yes it is!” and listen to the leaves crunch under his feet as he is waves goodbye walking away. Two friends get out of their car and sit in the same area as me with a similar blanket under a tree setup. I hear them talk about how excited they are that the sun is out and that they feel like they could sense spring is not all that far. More and more people kept showing up. Although I loved seeing everyone reconnect with maybe their favorite park like I was doing, I crossed the street into the Horn in the West Garden to get a little more peace and quiet. I sat in a gazebo and just listened and watched the sunset behind the mountains. On this side of the street, there was much less noise as it was further from the road than the park, and I was the only person in the garden. Here I heard two different types of birds and watched them hop from tree to tree. I stayed there, watching the birds interact until the sun set, having the most peaceful time, and then I realized how cold it got once the sun went down, and it is not quite spring just yet.
Margo Smith
Sunday, February 23, 2025. 5 P.M. Mid Winter.
For my soundscape assignment, I sat at one of the benches that line the perimeter of Sanford Mall. I chose this spot because it was at the end of my walk I had for an assignment where I collected geographical data. As I sat down, the first thing I noticed was the drip, drip, drip coming from the left of me. The sound was so loud and steady, I couldn’t decide if it was a mechanical sound or water from a gutter. The drip’s had a rhythm that was faster than a second and were so loud, it overpowered any of the other immediate sounds. Because of that, I couldn’t stand not knowing what it was so I went to check out the side of the building next to me, in which I confirmed that it was a heavy drip coming from a gutter. As I settled back in, I notice the sound of a video playing on a person’s phone, and can tell it is coming from the bench to the right of me. Despite how out of place this sound might seem outside, the audio is quiet enough to where it blends into the natural soundscape, not being nearly as distracting as the drip coming from my left. There is a lack of birdsong here, so maybe this is my birdsong. As I try to focus in on what’s beyond the Mall, I tune in to the distant hum of busy Rivers Street and probably even more distant roads that are beyond the mountain, blocking my view. The hum is comforting, reminding me of the city I grew up in and the city hum that was always there as my white noise to fall asleep. It fills the entire space, becoming the perfect backdrop for any vocalist that comes through. And as if in perfect timing, I hear a car rev up, going fast somewhere in the distance. Like a loud crash of cymbals, or the brass speaking up. It’s similar to how Thoreau felt about the Fitchburg Railroad, a different reminder that there are people and things out there that can “scream” and disrupt the serenity. His thoughts went to commerce, and similarly my thoughts went to ego. Closer to me, I can hear the quiet jaber of the people walking by on their phones. Are they talking to friends? To family? More clearly, I can hear a group of people talking on the opposite side of the lawn from me. They’re in good company, laughing at each other’s jokes. Then one couple’s dog starts barking and it starts to trail off as the couple decide to walk the dog around for a bit, following the dog’s secret commands without even knowing. I then tune into the patter of feet on the brick that lay all around, as friends goof off and head to their intended locations. The sound of shoes on brick is a satisfying sound; click, clunk, click, clunk. With this movement comes the clatter of a person’s keys as they walk across, joining with the click, clunk of their feet. The sounds of people talking and of feet hitting the ground create a duet that blends perfectly. Somewhere in the distance, what feels like my right, a vibration comes into my auditory view that I assume can only come from a machine. It does not belong to the street hum, and yet I cannot recall a place that it could be coming from. Nonetheless, it becomes a part of the natural hum. As the wind starts to pick up, it blows into my face, putting pressure on and in my ear, moving my hair around. Once again, a loud car drives past on a road I cannot pinpoint. In a few seconds, I hear it crossing Rivers Street as the sound is right before me, audibly going from my left to my right. At the very end of my 30 minutes, suddenly I gain awareness of the sounds I am producing. The rustle of my clothes on the table as I move my hands to type, the keyboard sounds, and my bracelet hitting the laptop ever so slightly. I know my typing is as disruptive for others as the drip coming from the left is to me, and yet I can hear past it as I welcome the street’s melody. The final person walks past me and I notice the sound of their boots scraping the ground, their heaviness making it hard for the person to fully pick up their feet. A car beeps twice in the distance as someone locks their car, and joyful voices fill the air as dinner time picks up.
To reflect further, I did discover a lot of “anthrophony.” The hum of the cars, the sounds of people passing by, even the sound of the drip was human made because it would not have been possible without the gutter. I wonder what Sanford Mall would sound like without any human-produced sounds. It’s probably so hard to tell because that particular area has been made to fit our student (very human) needs. There are some trees around, but their nakedness in this time of the year and the fact that they are few in number probably contributed to the lack of bird sounds. The only “geophony” I heard was the wind on my face. Nothing is particularly “noise,” “aural litter” or “audible trash” given that everything in this scene is made to be anthrophony. Everything fits, and because it wasn’t particularly busy at this point of time, most of it blended well for my ears. Out of context though, the video on the phone and the hum of a far off machine would contribute to audible litter for me personally. The only thing saving the hum of the busy streets from being labeled as litter to me is the nostalgia they produce. My experience definitely differed from Thoreau’s as mine failed to come into contact with any biophony sounds.
Ella Holmes
On Saturday morning, on a gloomy winter day in Boone, there was not much biophony because of the time of year. Even if there were birds chirping, I could not hear them over the anthrophony of city life. I left my dorm room around 7:00 a.m. to head to the nursery at the grocery store. The geophony was present in the form of the air having a constant humming sound as I moved from my dorm to the grocery store—thank goodness it was not windy.
I heard a lot of mechanical noises, such as cars stopping and moving on the roads. Some engines ran smoothly, while others sounded rugged. When I walked inside the store, cash registers and scanners made beeping noises as people checked out their groceries. I also noticed music playing in the background while the electric doors made a whoosh sound as they opened. A worker operated a machine that looked like a forklift, producing a high-pitched beeping sound that echoed through the store to alert customers to stay back. How could I forget the carts, with their creaking metal wheels rolling over the concrete? You know how it is—every now and then, you get one of those grocery carts with a faulty, squeaky wheel.
Before I walked through the door to the garden center, a loud air conditioning unit switched on. Since it was already cold outside, this was not a pleasant experience. The presence of biological and anthrophony sounds became more noticeable after witnessing all these events and moving toward the garden center or outside. I stopped to look at the fruit trees and summer bulbs that had been freshly stocked. The plastic bags made a constant crinkling sound as I moved the plants around to examine them. I could also feel and hear the quiet, slow sounds of the air as I moved around the store.
I wanted to buy some flower seeds for my garden, which made a rustling sound every time I picked up a packet to feel how much was inside. Obviously, grocery stores are busy, and people are always walking around. Different types of shoes create different sounds—from the click-clack of heels to the soft squeak or scuff of tennis shoes, like the ones I was wearing. Along with the footsteps, there were conversations between co-workers and customers. People’s voices varied in tone, ranging from soft-spoken to high-pitched.
Yes, I agree with Walden that music is already an aspect of the environment. The instruments we play come from the environment anyway! I think the sound of seeds is naturally made music—whether being poured, scattered, or falling through the air onto the ground. I also acknowledge that I was alerted to sounds we usually learn to ignore in our everyday lives, which are often dismissed as ‘background noise.’ The sounds we should encourage, multiply, and preserve include the hum of pollinators, water trickling down a stream, and birds chirping in urban areas. At the end of the day, I do believe some noises qualify as ‘audible trash,’ but in a city like Boone, I did not hear anything in my opinion that sounded like ‘trash,’ per say. Instead, these noises indicate that Boone is a busy place, especially as a college town.
Kye Harris
It’s noon Sunday, February 23rd and I am sitting on my back porch, with woods behind me extending as far as the eye can see. The gentle flow of the creek in my yard is abundant with continuous trickling noises, and the woods are rustling with life. The sun is shining down on me while the cool breeze and small pockets of melting snow around me remind me that, although it is decently warm, we are still stuck in the long, long winter season. In the serenity of my backyard, I hear roars of planes flying overhead, and the loud tremble of cars passing by. Being surrounded by woods, it is easy to forget that I live off of a very bustling road, but the whirring of endless cars brings me right back to the reality of living in close proximity to downtown. Bang! Clash! My windchimes communicate with the flow of the wind around me. “So many autumn, ay, and winter days, spent outside the town, trying to hear what was in the wind, to hear and carry it express! I well-nigh sunk all my capital in it, and lost my own breath into the bargain, running in the face of it” (Thoreau, 17). I have opened my ears to listen to what the wind communicates with me, such as Throeau.
Scritch, scritch, scritch, woof! My dog, Charlie, is begging to be let outside. I open the door and his little paws begin pattering on the wood surface of my porch, then wooshing around my backyard, his feet stamping in the grass. Caw! Caw! Caw! The family of crows living in my backyard make themselves known, Charlie responds with his high-pitched woof, woof, woofs! The faint noise of my Tibetan flags swaying in the wind and pattering on the wood signifies it getting windier. A magazine flutters in the wind, I was out here collaging yesterday. Another bang of the windchimes ground me. The whir of cars gets louder every minute, traffic is picking up. The creek continues trickling.
The senior center parking lot next to my house is always stirring, even on weekends, and I hear the vrooooom of a large truck using it to turn around next to my house. Crackle, crackle, crackle, squish, squish, squish my roommate pulls into my muddy gravel driveway. Woosh! Slam! Crunch! She hops out of the car and greets me with a warm “Hey!” Bowow! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Charlie responds. Slurp slurp, he licks his lips and settles down. Pitter-patter pitter-patter, he makes himself comfortable again lying in the warm sun. A soft jingling noise plays in my ears, my long silver earrings dangling and clanging as I shift my head to look at my sweet, lazing dog.
In such a serene environment, I expected to hear a biophony of noises everywhere, yet I kept finding myself even more surrounded predominately by the anthrophony of cars, but the geophony of the creek in my backyard kept me grounded, as I tried to mentally distance myself from the bustling street and parking lot beside me. The cars create aural litter in my ears, an upsetting realization. I try to focus on the beauty of the wind and creek noises, a more pleasant sound that I tend to subconsciously ignore in my every day, but sitting here and being an active listener has opened my mind to their abundant presence. These sounds are important to the ecological well-being of my backyard, as many animals find serenity in the creek’s never-ending ebb and flow. Nature is a true composer, the beauty of these biophonic and geophonic noises mesh together to create a symphony of life in my yard. I chose to sit on my back porch because I find a deep sense of serenity here, and its beauty amazes me every day. Nature is prying to communicate with me and itself through these soft, beautiful sounds, but the road noises create a harsh juxtaposition to those noises. Cars, wind, trickles, and caws are the keynote sounds from my backyard, and I continuously learn to appreciate their existence.
“Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, 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 the birds sing 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” (Thoreau, 108-109). Thoreau’s experience of sitting in a similar setting to mine makes me wish the road noises were but a faint whirr, rather than a cacophony of traffic overtaking the beautiful natural soundscape. I have come to find a feeling of peace with the noises around me and find beauty in the symphony of nature and its anthropogenic counterparts.
Caroline Laschinger
In the middle of the day I walked around campus in search of a good spot to sit and listen. I wanted to find a location that wouldn’t be dominated by one single noise, be that of traffic or the chatter of nearby people. I found a spot by the name of Dean Greene’s Garden, a shaded clearing in between some administrative buildings and Durham park. Surrounded by shrubbery and trees, I thought it might be a good spot to hear a mingling of “natural” and anthropocentric sounds, but the balance was heavily skewed towards the latter. The wind was gentle today, and the barren trees surrounding me did not produce much sound from its movement. Instead, the wind spoke through the two flags sitting high above me, providing a calm rustling of fabric along with the occasional interjection of metallic clanking. Dean Greene’s Garden was a pleasant place to sit because it was situated in a low-key area of campus, at least in terms of commotion as there was little foot traffic nearby and it was far enough away from the busy intersection of Blowing Rock road and Rivers street to not be inundated by the noise of vehicles. This was a spot for taking a break and having a quiet moment to yourself. Of course, the noise of vehicles is nearly inescapable in our anthropocentric landscape. It exists always in the ambient backdrop of our world, as natural as the wind to us at this point, perhaps even more so. Some cars are relatively quiet; their engines efficiently hum as they coalesce with the sound of other isolated travelers into the dull roar of traffic. This roar was muted by the distance, but it was still the prevailing sound to my ears. Amidst the hum of smaller cars were discordant eruptions of unmuffled acceleration arising mostly from large pickup trucks, sometimes accompanied by excessively loud music that from a distance sounded like a neighbor’s stereo heard through a shared wall. There were larger commercial vehicles and buses that brought with them screeching brakes and noisy mechanical rumblings as they lumbered their way through the streets of Boone. And yet all this noise, for the most part, remained at a distance. The hustle and bustle of this lively college town formed the walls of my own personal bubble but refused to puncture it. Occasionally people would walk by and I’d hear their footsteps against the sidewalk; rubber soles meeting concrete like rubber tires do the pavement, the sounds of mobility. These footsteps crunched not against plant material but the residual salt rocks littering the paths of campus. Conversations could be gleaned once in a while; fragments of speech, sharp laughter, yelps of play – the indiscernible sameness of public activity of whom I was a (quiet) part of. Notably absent was the sound of life that was not human. My visit to this garden was shared only by two birds who perched on a tree nearby for a few minutes, their arrival and departure punctuated by hurried fluttering. I only once more heard the distant tune of another bird jingling from afar, but it was gone just as quickly as it arrived at my ears. This was a place for humans I suppose, a site of nature-in-society, by which I mean a space with trees, grass, and bushes surrounded by buildings and roads. It was actually notable for just how little natural noise was present on this part of campus, and it made me miss it. I wonder if others notice when there are no birds around to sing to us.
Jack Ely
I chose to experience the soundscape of my apartment’s balcony, and while convenience certainly played a role in the decision, I had a deeper curiosity about how this more deliberate form of listening would impact my perception of such a familiar environment. My existing perception of this soundscape was relatively underdeveloped. More often than not, the sounds natural and built environment are muffled as they attempt to penetrate my walls and windows, with the more subtle sounds being lost completely. While I enjoy sitting out on the balcony, I often do so while listening to music, paying more attention to the visual details, so I knew this would be an enriching experience.
My apartment is on Meadowview Drive, walking distance from Walmart, which comes with a fair amount of both pedestrians and vehicles. I stepped outside a little after 5 PM, meaning most people were finishing up with classes and work. A car cruised past on the road below as I sat down, with the light hum of an engine, tires gripping the road, and wind passing it by. I hear a slight breeze, Spring has begun to make its presence felt on this warmer day, March is almost here. A soft symphony of birds melds with the sounds of construction and heavy machinery. This has become rather typical following hurricane Helene, especially on my street, where flooding hit hard. The rhythmic beeping of large trucks and soft metallic grading of tools combined with the various birds created a strong image and unique sound profile. The beeping of trucks and bird calls, while conceptually opposed, created a kind of comforting and serene atmosphere. I think a big part of this is due to the more harsh, anthropogenic sounds being further away, allowing them to come off a little softer and complement the natural tones.
I was surprised to see, despite the difference in time periods (among many other things), the commonalities in Thoreau’s comments about his soundscape and my own. Even with such contrast in times and technology, Thoreau details quite the relatable soundscape, “Late in the evening I heard the distant rumbling of wagons over bridges— a sound heard farther than almost any other at night— the baying of dogs, and sometimes again the lowing of some disconsolate cow in a distant barn-yard” (Thoreau, 2010 pg. 123). I can relate to this passage in particular, as both throughout my listening period and well into most nights, I hear the passing of cars and occasional barking dogs.
This section by Thoreau makes me consider both his and Krauses opinions on nature as a composer, and I would probably half-agree with this overall message. It would seem as though humans simply interpret their surroundings as music, which in turn makes both the natural and man-made aspects of the world “composers”. The soundscape exercise, for me, was a fantastic way to further appreciate the world of audio hidden in everyday life. I also think a soundscape can provide deeper insight into larger natural, technological, and human phenomena.
-Max Lawrence
Soundscape Analysis of My Back Yard
Location: Residential area just off of 421 relatively close to King st or Downtown Boone
Date, Time, and Season: 2/23/2025 around 1 o’clock
I chose this location because of its unique combination of natural and human-made sounds. Sitting here, I wanted to observe how different elements of the environment interact sonically. The presence of both nature and civilization makes this space an interesting site for a soundscape analysis. I interact with lots of wildlife such as deer, insects, squirrels, birds and rabbits but am constantly hearing highway 421 and the neighborhood that surrounds me. Sounds Observed:
Soundscape Reflection:
The mixture of these sounds created a layered, dynamic auditory environment. The keynote sounds of this location were the birds and wind, and cars forming the core of the sonic identity. The human-made sounds, though present, felt secondary to the natural ambiance.
This observation aligns with Thoreau’s reflection in Walden, where he describes distant sounds as forming a “vibration of the universal lyre.” The bell sounds he describes, strained by the air and echoed through the forest, reminded me of how the wind carried distant human sounds, integrating them into the natural setting rather than disrupting it.
Bernie Krause’s framework of biophony, geophony, and anthrophony helps analyze the balance in this soundscape. While nature’s music was prominent, the increasing human presence introduced noise that sometimes felt intrusive. The occasional honk of a car or the mechanical whir of construction machinery disrupted the organic rhythm of the location, making me reflect on how urban expansion influences ecological soundscapes.Ecological and Philosophical Considerations:
Many of the sounds I heard are ones we often learn to ignore, like the wind moving through trees or the distant murmur of water. However, in the context of ecological well-being, these sounds are vital indicators of environmental health. Encouraging the preservation of biophonic and geophonic elements could help maintain a balanced sonic ecosystem.
Thoreau suggests that nature composes its own music, independent of human interpretation. My experience supports this notion, listening attentively, I could perceive an intricate, self-sustaining harmony within the soundscape. The blending of sounds, both natural and artificial, created an evolving composition that could be considered a form of environmental music, one that both humans and nonhumans shape in real time.
This experience has heightened my awareness of how sound shapes our perception of a place. It reminds us to listen more carefully to the world around us, not just to what is loud and demanding, but to the subtle, intricate melodies that nature plays every day.
Will Bradford
For my soundscape assignment, I choose to sit in Durham Park in Boone NC by the small creek that flows through it. It was a cold day right about 40 degrees around noon, and I just sat and listened to the soundscape around me. While sitting and listening one thing that stuck out to me the most was the flowing creek, the water moving at a steady pace, allowing for a continuous low-pitched noise with the occasional splash onto the small rocks that lined the edges. The water sounded almost smooth; a rhythm was produced that kept me calm but not completely still. While sitting by the creek not only am I experiencing natural sounds but also the sounds of people going about their days, the hum of school life creates a subtle contrast to the birds chirping and water flowing, almost adding another layer of activity to the already steady environment. The pitch of voices fluctuates between women and men, a mix of excitement in some voices while others carry sadder tones.
This soundscape assignment fundamentally altered the way I have been perceiving my local environment, allowing me to become interconnected with the natural world despite the ongoing bustling of student life. Allowing myself to absorb the mixture between the biological sounds such as the flowing water and wind through the trees, and the active school life reminded me of how each layer builds upon itself within sound creating a beautiful yet complicated stack of unique sounds to identify specific places. The mixture of both human and natural sounds stuct me with a sudden awareness of the local environment, and how the smallest sounds contribute to the overall atmosphere of wherever you are. Through this assignment I allowed myself to become more attuned to the dynamic of the ever-changing soundscape that surrounds me allowing me to connect on a deeper level to the landscape I reside in.
-Lex Blake
Around 3:30 on Monday, March 26th, I sat on the grass in my yard with my dog, Mabel, and listened. As I fiddled with the tufts of onion grass beside me, I smiled at Mabel’s inability to conform to the peaceful, meditative soundscape I was looking for. Instead, she was loudly eviscerating a chunk of bark, happily crunching and gnawing away as she sprawled out in the sun. It was very windy that day, and the loud swoosh of the breeze and rustling of leaves made it hard to hear the birds. However, I was able to make out the clear whistled song of a white-throated sparrow as well as its high pitched call [cheep]. As the weather warms, these birds will begin to head back north, right around this time of year, actually! At the apartments across the street, a dog barked from a balcony after noticing Mabel, she cocked her head for a second but then got back to her beloved stick. Beyond the bio- and geophony, mechanical and anthrophonic sounds shaped the soundscape. My duplex is just off the 105 extension, so I heard the rumble of cars passing in the distance. At one point, I tucked my knees to my chest and rested my head on my arms, and I heard the soft ticking of my watch near my ear. I also tried to tune out some “aural litter”—the metallic clanging of the utility panel on the outside of my apartment that refuses to stay shut.
Listening closer to the sounds of a place, as I might with a song from a favorite artist or composer, lead to a reevaluation of sounds and appreciation for their sources. In the “Sounds” chapter of Walden, Thoreau describes the lowing of cows, the trump of bullfrogs, and the whistle of locomotives as elements more akin to a musical score than background noise. Reflecting on my own listening experience, I agree with Thoreau and Krause. Perhaps my soundscape wasn’t as aurally rich as what Thoreau described, with fewer distinct instruments, but I think the sense of musicality came from the emotional resonance I found. Just as music does, the sounds of nature can evoke feelings of peace, joy, belonging, or even annoyance. Embracing the musical qualities in everyday sounds can help us deepen our commitment to preserving the symphony of life that surrounds us.
Aaron Batty
Landon Dancy
The evening of Frida, April 11th
Watauga County court house
As I sit on a picnic table in front of the courthouse of Boone on King St., I listen to the different sounds that each car that passes makes, I am trying to guess who has a car payment versus who owns their vehicle based off of how loud their exhaust is. The exhausts and the screeching of brakes are keynote sounds of my location. When the cars stop coming by for a short time, the space is taken up by the sounds of birds chirping rapidly, marking the end of the day. A carpenter bee buzzes in my ear to let me know to cherish the spare moments where cars are keeping their distance from my position. I hear two birds sharing loudly in a song that has no particular direction but finds a way to sound beautiful when in unison; these birds are like a jazz quintet in a way. Their notes are played at random, with little concern for the structure of the rhythm, producing a sound that is meant to be appreciated by the trained ear but is overlooked by passers-by all day, every day, giving the songs an air of loneliness that the birds themselves cannot even comprehend.
When the cars stop, this couple of birds and I become the only beings that exist in the world; everyone else is passing by, going about their day, but in this space, it is only us, the bee left taking its buzzing with it. I hear the branches of the tree above me start to shake when I notice that one of the birds is right above me. The bird continued to chirp above my head, which I took as a sign that I have been sitting here long enough to go become less of an outsider who has stepped into its domain to more of a part of the domain itself; But I think I may have been wrong because the bird pooped on my arm. The sound of betrayal was overwhelming my soundscape.
A coyote rumbles and roars in the distance, but rather than the animal, my use of coyote in this situation describes the V8 engine in a Ford Mustang that is named after the animal. The loud car comes back and forth down the street (I think they’re showing their friends their cool car), polluting and engulfing my soundscape to the point that it is hurting my ears.
As the birds and bees call it a night, my soundscape transitions from a jazz band being drowned out by the chatter of the crowd to a rock band that only got together for the free drinks and attention. After no more than a few minutes, the crickets take the place of the birds and bees. The sound of crickets makes a uniform backtrack and effectively balances out the obnoxious rock band that is the cars.
It is becoming the season of motorcycles driving past my window in the early morning, so as I take my final moments on this bench, I expect to hear them making their way hastily to the mountain roads. Finally, I hear the revs and cracks and pops of motorcycle exhausts; they are out for their sunset ride, and you can hear their excitement in the aggressive way that they rev their engines and egg each other on to do so as well. They can be heard even after they leave my view and make their way over the hill.
For my (very late) soundscape assignment (thank you for letting me turn this in), I sat right outside my second-floor apartment on a lawn chair. I live on Winklers Creek Road, right behind the Boone Mall. It is peaceful enough, close by to campus and grocery stores, but I have some distance from the traffic nightmare of Blowing Rock Road and 105. This has become one of my favorite places to sit and reflect on my day. Like most days in Boone, there is a light breeze. The sound of the apple trees across the street rustling and shaking is soothing, but it is often interrupted by cars passing by. It’s 11 in the morning, the birds are chirping wildly. Sometimes I am awoken in the middle of the night by their nocturnal yelping. That was not the case last night. The birds seem to be in deep conversation with each other. Their patterns repeating, developing, always continuous.
The sounds of cars are constant. I have never noticed how much noise the traffic on Greenway Rd creates. A reminder that this spot, I consider sacred and peaceful, is still entwined with the car-dependent civilization humanity has created. Still, the birds calm me. They are constant, and they surround me. While the cars are tied to the confines of the road, the birds are free to go wherever they please. Their chirps, tweets, and twitters are hard to pinpoint, unlike the rubber tires tearing into the asphalt down the road.
The acoustic nature of this place is defined by the birds and cars. Other things pop in the mix. An occasional yelp from a person. Joyous chatter of humans. Laughing. These sounds are pleasant and remind me that there is joy in the human experience. It is not all cars and asphalt.
Thoreau would not enjoy this spot I have picked. There are constant reminders of civilization. He might even think I am lazy for being content with this chair outside of my apartment. I will admit it was chosen mostly out of convenience. However, I am okay with having this small peace to myself. Somehow, it is gratifying to know that I am satisfied here. The soundscape is not perfect and pristine, but nothing is; there is always an improvement to be made. That is okay. I have time to work on it.
John Turner