Who says the forest is quiet?
It’s often an extremely noisy world outside our door, in the middle of the woods. This morning, while peacefully sipping our coffee and tea, chatting away…BOOM!! BOOM!! BOOM!!
It’s enough to make one leap up off the couch in startled frenzy. But we’re used to it, after all these years. We barely raised an eyebrow. I think I grunted something like, “What hunting season is it now?” and Barry mumbled back something like, “Duck. Goose. They’re hunting down on the bay.” Oh yes. We continued to sip our beverages, contemplating the hunter and hunted down on the bay. I said, “Hope the geese fly south fast” and Barry said, “Wouldn’t you like a goose dinner some day?”
“No,” I replied, “we’re vegetarians, don’t you remember?”
“Remember that goose dinner you cooked back when we were in our 20’s and you cried?” he continued.
“Vaguely,” I replied. We sipped some more and listened to the silence in the woods. Now you could hear the rooster crowing next door. Ahhhhhahahahaha! It cried. It does not cocka-doodle-doo like normal roosters.
Next loud noise: our woodsplitter. One must wear headphones to mute the loud whining engine sounds that keen through the trees. (Maybe it’s the trees that are keening loudly, knowing that their relatives are being split up to heat our house.) It’s very noisy. As noisy as chainsaws and bulldozers and cement trucks. All of which have been on our property within the last couple weeks.
You finally stop splitting wood and throwing it in the truck. When you throw wood in the truck it goes “ka-thunk!” If it makes the sound “ka-ching!” you’re in trouble. That means you’ve accidentally tossed the wood against the Studebaker sides or fender. Not a good thing. And if you ever heard the sound “ka-crrringle!!!” you might as well run for the house in tears because that would mean you threw a log through the back Studebaker window. I would never do that. Not in a million years. Promise.
Now here’s some noise that goes on day AND night. Serious noise. It’s the sound of chipmunks and squirrels scurrying up and down the oak tree. Out on the branches they dangle, their mouths stuffed with prize acorns. The extra acorns hit the ground “ping!” “ping!” “ping!” and heaven forbid that you’re underneath the oak tree when the acorns fall. It’s like a construction zone. You need a hard hat. It’s treacherous beneath the oak tree in the autumn. Don’t go there.
Speaking of noises in the night…I hesitate to tell you this story. But I have permission, so you shall hear it. My beloved husband likes to stay up late, putzing in his garage until it’s inky black outside. He’s memorized the path between garage and house and can manuever like a bobcat in the dark. Except. Last night he decided to move some of his construction project materials from the garage to the shed. In the dark.
He was watching the tree line and thinking he knew exactly where he was going until…
(Please supply the words you think a man might utter at 1 a.m. in the pitch dark when he stumbles over a rock and bangs up both legs quit badly. Poor fellow. He limped into the house in pain and agony with all sorts of bruises, cuts and contusions.) I asked if it would be possible to photograph his legs to show you all, but he declined.
Yes, the woods can be quite noisy. Yes, indeed.