We live in the woods, with a little creek at the bottom of the ravine behind the house, and only half a mile from a highway. There are a lot of noises around us.
Twenty five years ago there was far less traffic on the highway and if I heard the traffic whoosh at night I actually thought I was hearing water. Eventually I realized the sound was the traffic, but would tell myself “it’s only water,” and go back to sleep.
Given the trees and the creek, of course we have spring peepers, a night sound I really liked. It’s so good to have open windows in the spring and know it is the beginning of spring because the windows are open and because the peepers are calling.
The inevitable has come around again—fall is close and the crickets and frogs are here. I do not like them. They monopolize a pitch and a frequency that set my teeth on edge. In the night they get inside my head and make my brain look for an escape exit. For years I slept with a pillow over my head beginning in mid August.
At supper the other night Hamilton asked if the frogs seemed especially loud the night before. Jan said the frogs had not especially annoyed her, but that one cricket with the grating chirp that went on and on and on and on….
“Oh, that one!” from Emily. “It said the same thing, over and over and over. I guess I finally fell asleep.”
I smiled, remembering the day. “They don’t bother me anymore,” I announced. All eyes turned. “I take out one hearing aid, the noise is half gone. I take out the other, the little buggers are reduced to music to my ears. Or the sound of water. Or little spring peepers.”