Red Ryder
Tele-Afflicted
Silence broken by wind. My wife hollars at me, I just have to laugh.
Homey sounds you love....
- Thread starter RoscoeElegante
- Start date
Lou Tencodpees
Tele-Afflicted
Back in Michigan we bought an old 1890s farmhouse that had a train track running down the hill below our property. As a light sleeper I had concerns despite a mild lifelong infatuation with trains. It took me about two days to get used to it. 
I do like white noise to help me sleep. Probably a distraction to silence the cicadas in my head.
I do like white noise to help me sleep. Probably a distraction to silence the cicadas in my head.
danielreid27
Tele-Afflicted
Sirens is all I hear in this dirty old city.
More often it's the sights around here that trouble my poor Soul: junkies on the nod at the top of my street, streetcars grinding along Dundas East....
I sure miss the cedars, pines & maples along my favourite Trout stream...
Welcome to Cabbagetown.
More often it's the sights around here that trouble my poor Soul: junkies on the nod at the top of my street, streetcars grinding along Dundas East....
I sure miss the cedars, pines & maples along my favourite Trout stream...
Welcome to Cabbagetown.
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I guess the only time I really enjoyed the sounds of home were when we lived on the farm in Arkansas when I was thirteen. Sitting in the living room, hearing the crackling sounds of the fire I had built in the stove, with wood I had cut myself, and the rain falling softly on the roof, they were the sounds of home. There was even a certain ambiance added by the soft light that came from our kerosene lamps. We had to use those when the 'lectric was out.
Hearing the surf when the windows are open, the trinity simmering before adding to a gumbo, families laughing on a surrey (a two to six seat pedal powered vehicle).
Kandinskyesque
Friend of Leo's
At night, it's the Owls, I must be near one of their happy hunting grounds.
The Snipe and the Ospreys that visit here in the summer
Crows in the daytime.
As a kid it was church bells on a Sunday.
I'm rarely in a church but I still find the sound of church bells comforting, whenever I hear them.
The Snipe and the Ospreys that visit here in the summer
Crows in the daytime.
As a kid it was church bells on a Sunday.
I'm rarely in a church but I still find the sound of church bells comforting, whenever I hear them.
Sewing machine motors on cars squealing up the street that will never sound like a muscle car. Makes me smile.
mbapcpppmd
TDPRI Member
The silence of a heavy snow broken by the sound of a rare car driving on the road through it, gunfire in the woods, the fireplace crackling, snd the percolator making a fresh pot of coffee.
That's what I was going to say: distant trains
stxrus
Doctor of Teleocity
Here it could be the trades rustling the leaves. Birds chirping. Hearing the surf breaking on the reef. The normal Cotton Valley sounds
Skyhook
Friend of Leo's
Swarms of mosquitoes up in the treetops during late summer nights.
Eiders out on the water at dawn.
I'll probably miss this world.
Eiders out on the water at dawn.
I'll probably miss this world.
When I'm camping: the loon.
Really beautiful entries here. Quite the open chords strummed, indeed.
In reading these, FWIW, it reminded me of some famous literary versions. James Joyce's short story "Araby" is a great interplay between the precisely described and the precisely heard, all of it chording the narrator's soul in a musically-written vignette. Like a prelude.
https://www.google.com/search?q=2&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
Huck Finn's famously musical account of mornings on the Mississippi fits here, too:
TWO or three days and nights went by; I reckon I might say they swum by, they slid along so quiet and smooth and lovely. Here is the way we put in the time. It was a monstrous big river down there--sometimes a mile and a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid daytimes; soon as night was most gone we stopped navigating and tied up--nearly always in the dead water under a towhead; and then cut young cottonwoods and willows, and hid the raft with them. Then we set out the lines. Next we slid into the river and had a swim, so as to freshen up and cool off; then we set down on the sandy bottom where the water was about knee deep, and watched the daylight come. Not a sound anywheres --perfectly still--just like the whole world was asleep, only sometimes the bullfrogs a-cluttering, maybe. The first thing to see, looking away over the water, was a kind of dull line--that was the woods on t'other side; you couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots drifting along ever so far away--trading scows, and such things; and long black streaks--rafts; sometimes you could hear a sweep screaking; or jumbled up voices, it was so still, and sounds come so far; and by and by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off of the water, and the east reddens up, and the river, and you make out a log-cabin in the edge of the woods, away on the bank on t'other side of the river, being a woodyard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can throw a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and comes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell on account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way, because they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they do get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything smiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it!
In reading these, FWIW, it reminded me of some famous literary versions. James Joyce's short story "Araby" is a great interplay between the precisely described and the precisely heard, all of it chording the narrator's soul in a musically-written vignette. Like a prelude.
https://www.google.com/search?q=2&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
Huck Finn's famously musical account of mornings on the Mississippi fits here, too:
TWO or three days and nights went by; I reckon I might say they swum by, they slid along so quiet and smooth and lovely. Here is the way we put in the time. It was a monstrous big river down there--sometimes a mile and a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid daytimes; soon as night was most gone we stopped navigating and tied up--nearly always in the dead water under a towhead; and then cut young cottonwoods and willows, and hid the raft with them. Then we set out the lines. Next we slid into the river and had a swim, so as to freshen up and cool off; then we set down on the sandy bottom where the water was about knee deep, and watched the daylight come. Not a sound anywheres --perfectly still--just like the whole world was asleep, only sometimes the bullfrogs a-cluttering, maybe. The first thing to see, looking away over the water, was a kind of dull line--that was the woods on t'other side; you couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots drifting along ever so far away--trading scows, and such things; and long black streaks--rafts; sometimes you could hear a sweep screaking; or jumbled up voices, it was so still, and sounds come so far; and by and by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off of the water, and the east reddens up, and the river, and you make out a log-cabin in the edge of the woods, away on the bank on t'other side of the river, being a woodyard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can throw a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and comes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell on account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way, because they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they do get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything smiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it!
KWal
Tele-Meister
We've got a train that runs through a couple of miles away at around 3:00 AM. It's comforting hearing that horn sound every night. It's as if it's saying that all is well, rest easy.
I was finally able to get my youngest into playing guitar this past August and he's progressing at an amazing speed. I've been cooped up for the past five days with the beer flu, and it was really nice laying there listening to him noodle and try working his way through some of his favorite songs. There were a couple of moments when you could almost hear the light bulb go off in his head as he picked up a section of a tune.
Then there's the sound of a thunderstorm out on the horizon.
I was finally able to get my youngest into playing guitar this past August and he's progressing at an amazing speed. I've been cooped up for the past five days with the beer flu, and it was really nice laying there listening to him noodle and try working his way through some of his favorite songs. There were a couple of moments when you could almost hear the light bulb go off in his head as he picked up a section of a tune.
Then there's the sound of a thunderstorm out on the horizon.
Tonetele
Doctor of Teleocity
Birds even before dawn. That and rain on the roof.
I have a cassette tape of dad reading stories to me when I was about 3. It was so old and fragile I had to put it in a new shell as the pressure pad was missing.
Once of the surprise treats was the whirr of mom's sewing machine. It was so funny, the instant I heard it I could smell machine oil and cotton thread.
Once of the surprise treats was the whirr of mom's sewing machine. It was so funny, the instant I heard it I could smell machine oil and cotton thread.
If I can get my wife to laugh, that's my favorite homey sound.
Frontier9
Friend of Leo's
As a child I remember drifting close to slumber, and hearing the occasional late-night diesel shifting thru gears as the driver came rolling down the hill into town... would wonder why he was driving so late and where he was going... I'd hear them continue to the other end of Main Street and fade as they continued up thru the Berkshire hills. It always struck me as a lonesome sound, a sound of being somewhere else, and the silence of them gone would lull me into dreams.
ahiddentableau
Tele-Afflicted
It's bird singing for me. Where I grew up was surrounded by woods and the sound of the birds was constant. So I will always find that a comforting and familiar sound.
