Voices

I have the grand luxury of enjoying moments of self-imposed silence. Of course, silence is impossible in most settings, but being seated in a quiet home, without electronic devices blaring, is like drinking cool sips of water in a parched desert.  In the early morning hours, before most of the living roust from their nests, I am able to soak up the voices of natural causes. And things that go bump in the night.

My early morning greeting is often the gentle banging of doors in my basement. My husband says it is the change of pressure that causes such sounds, but I prefer to imagine a sweet little ghost taking care of business when no one is living in our lower level. The banging sounds always make me smile and sometimes I utter a cordial good morning greeting. I am alone at such times so no fear of mocking by others.

Our refrigerator whirs out the churn of making new ice cubes. Except, we have no ice making function on our refrigerator. I can hear the clunk, clunk of the pseudo ice cubes at the end of each cycle. Before you start using the crazy word, my husband recently startled to the same sound. He asked, "Did you hear that?" I responded, "It always does that. It's just the ice making dreams of our refrigerator." He had no reply. And no explanation. I continue to enjoy the process.

Occasionally, I hear the pop, pop, pop of something aching in the bones of the walls. I have long since stopped trying to analyze the source. Envisioning pipes ready to burst or studs in the throes of death does not provide calming thoughts for me. So, I assume little Casper from the basement is sending me Morse code messages. I just hope he isn't telling me that a pipe is ready to go.

The most mysterious sound also comes from my basement. It is a sharp ping that is identical to the sound of a freshly canned jar of peaches alerting the world that the seal is final. I have no idea what causes the sound as I haven't canned anything since my early years of marriage. I do enjoy it, however, as memories of the bounty of summer come flooding back. Jars of peaches, beans and cherries line up like jewels, ready for winter's dark days. A pleasant memory, for sure.

One of my favorite sounds is the rat-a-tat-tat from my deck. A downy woodpecker regularly visits the suet I have positioned on a deck post. She indulges her instincts by pecking away with rapid fire on the block of fat and seeds. I don't think she needs to push very hard to make dietary progress but she enjoys the motion of pecking away. Sometimes we all have to listen to our instincts.

We live in a culture of manufactured sound. TV, Netflix, podcasts, Spotify, books on tape and playlists all vie for our time. None of which are bad. But, sometimes it feels good to disconnect and release control of our surroundings. Listen for the voice of others, the hoot of an owl, the creaking of floor tiles or your favorite house ghost. You may not understand the conversation but you will understand the moment.