Living fairly far from other people as we do, we are surrounded by “silence.” I’ve noticed this much more lately, spending so much time alone.
I quote “silence,” because in nature, that’s a relative term. In the winter months, with very little boat or ship traffic, we rarely hear motors out here. Sometimes planes fly overhead, or a helicopter will roar up channel, but these are few and far between. Our aural backdrop is the ocean, the wind, and the animals around us: the sea lions at the haul out across the fjord, birds in the forest and on the water, occasional whales or porpoises. There’s a lot to hear, but the noise level rarely rises to the level of even a small town. I play music on the stereo, or listen to the radio some; Spice wakes up and cries about her latest inconvenience; I might listen to an audio book on portable speakers as I do my chores, but much of the time, all is quiet.
This silence has attuned me differently than most people. I used to wonder if my hearing might be going bad, but now I don’t think so—I think it’s a matter of attention. Continue reading
