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Zounds! Summer Sounds

by Alan R. Wolcott

Which is more alarming, the grating scrunch of Caterpillar road equipment grinding to a start or the Ritalin free chortle of a robin with ADHD loudly proclaiming his joie de vivre at 4:47 a.m.? Proverbs 27.14 comes to mind: “If a man loudly blesses his neighbor early in the morning, it will be taken as a curse.”

Summer has its banes and blessings.

While I do not begrudge Mr. Robin his free speech rights, it strikes me that by now Ms. Robin and any would be usurpers, nest robbers and worm snitchers are well aware of his presence and territorial declarations. Sheesh, Saddam couldn’t be more boisterously monotone! Perhaps I should also console myself that the road racket at crack of dawn all summer long explains why whenever I drive past the crew at 10 or 2 they’re sipping, well—Mountain Dew? Just swatting skeeters before 5 a.m. is more aerobic activity than most of us bureaucrats get in weeks of drawling, scrawling and shuffling papers.

One unexpected blessing of summer sounds is the capacity for consciousness raising. How little we knew about our neighbors until the storms came off and the screens came out. How much better we know them now! Mostly we had to rely on bi-weekly snatches of neighborhood gossip: “Did you hear that Fred and Mary...?” Antennae might help, but summer pretty much obviates the need. We can hear plainly.

So we drew our own conclusions when pieces of the neighbor’s double bed headboard and box springs appeared in the driveway just before Casella showed up. Though, I confess it was odd on our street to hear a chain saw revving up about 10 p.m. We’ve also learned that scream therapy is alive and really well down the block. And there’s a young fellow around the corner who needs to turn up his hearing aid—of course, this way we don’t have to pay for the Grateful Dead. From the ballpark our kids have finally learned how to pronounce all those words we said were too “gutteral” to be used. What a relief.

I had almost forgotten just how fond we are of summer mutts. On our street alone there’s a veritable canine choir. Twice a day Amtrack rushes past, but not without letting everybody know. It’s on cue, whenever dogs hear the rumble, rock, roll and toot of the train, a howling fugue ensues.

Yep, their “Bach” is worse than their bites.

Gotta go.