Urban Noise, Rural Quiet

I’ve recently read two books that described the riches of rural “auralscapes”—all the wonderful sounds that one can hear when immersed in quiet surroundings. My former life was in acoustics (noise control) so I have a predilection for hushed environments. Having lived in the quiet woods for 25 years now, I’ve come to treasure the serenity it offers.

There are two terms that are often used to describe auralscapes: loud and noise. Each represents very different things to different people. One person’s loud is another’s quiet. One person’s noise is another’s music. The contrasts become quite stark for those who live in urban or in rural environments.

In cities manmade noise is both constant and dominant. I call it manmade “noise”; an urban dweller often hardly notices it. The continual din of traffic, airplanes, and countless machines numbs one’s hearing. The blare of loudspeakers and similar loud sounds can even damage one’s ears and threaten health by creating stress. City dwellers can lose contact with subtle sounds, just as they have little concept of what might be seen in a dark sky.

A rural auralscape can be far quieter. Surrounded by the stillness, one begins to hear many faint sounds that are otherwise elusive. Depending on the local activity level of background sound like insects and the wind, one can hear animal calls from a long distance away in the woods. The scurrying of little critters in the underbrush may be discerned. The wing beats of a bird can be heard. The trickle of the creek is delightful to listen to. It is not silence; it is the wonder of quietness.

Of course, there is a cost to living in a quiet rural auralscape and being treated to all the wonderful sounds: one becomes much more sensitive to intrusive noise. The snarl of a small plane—not even heard in the city—can be very intrusive out here. One loud motorcycle invades your world for several minutes, since you can hear it several miles away. Numerous studies of human physiological response to noise have shown that we can tune out a constant drone far easier than an intermittent intruder. (In a similar way, loud and flashy TV commercials cleverly penetrate our sensory defenses.)

In my quiet haven in the woods I thrill to all the wonderful sounds of nature, and flinch from the noise of humans. The flinching can be very irritating, but the quiet rewards outweigh the noisy intrusions.