“Hear that lonesome whippoorwill/ He sounds too blue to fly/ The midnight train is whining low…” – Hank Williams Among the books I mean to get around to reading is Neil Ansell’s “The Edge of Silence: In Search of the Disappearing Sounds of Nature.”
Although Ansell’s book focuses on his gradual hearing loss and his globetrotting quest to experience endangered species in the wild, I suspect we can find applications closer to home.
Just as sprawling city lights have rendered most of us incapable of doing the sort of stargazing our ancestors took for granted (“I think I see part of Orion’s Belt…it’s getting closer… wait, did the Greeks have any myths about Orion delivering packages for Amazon?”), an unrelenting barrage of ambulance sirens, beeping car horns, diesel engines and jackhammers separates us from the once-familiar sounds of nature.
Granted, you can have too much of a good thing. Even Mother Nature has been known to reach her limit with roosters crowing, donkeys braying and bobcats growling. (“I’m cranking up the ‘white noise’ machine. The bra comes off next! Avert your eyes, Father Time.”) We spend so much precious time in our homes, in our vehicles and in noisy shopping/entertainment venues, we don’t get to hear the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves or the babbling of brooks. (“Who needs babbling brooks? I’ve got babbling podcasters!”) Even if we’re outdoors, we are bombarded by squealing tires, soupedup lawn equipment or the music filtering through our wireless earbuds. (Yes, the closest some of us come to wildlife reverberations is listening to the Beach Boys “Pet Sounds” album at 95 decibels.)
There’s something soul-satisfying about the simple life. I had way too much fun after dark last night carrying out the garbage and hearing the tree frogs serenading me from their perch. Most of us could benefit from more hiking, camping, birdwatching or petting-zoo visiting.
Unfortunately, we face a double whammy. Even if we finally seize the opportunity to get “up close and personal” with nature, we have damaged our eardrums to the point that we don’t get the richest listening experience. (“Hold it, hon. There’s a piece of lint on your shoulder. Let me fire up the leaf blower!”) Promise me you’ll (a) seek out out the wonders of nature and (b) practice proactive hearing conservation.
My late mother (bless her heart) serves as a cautionary tale here. Her hearing was terrible for the last several years of her life (as in couldn’t hear a Whoopee Cushion factory explode next door).
Mom was in denial about the profound problem, refused to visit an audiologist and expressed a perverse pride about using bobby pins to dislodge her ear wax.
Hearing aids were verboten, but I was finally able to communicate with her without shouting so much when I purchased a less expensive set of headphones.
Towards the end of her life, I asked if she used the headphones when my softspoken brother made his daily visit.
When she answered in the negative, I inquired, “Well, how do you carry on a conversation?”
“Oh, I already know what he’s going to say and he already knows what I’m going to say, so we just make do.”
Come to think of it, maybe that’s why y’all aren’t encountering enough of nature’s creatures. Because I went out into the woods and screamed and screamed…
Copyright 2025 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate. Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected]
