I really believed moving out to country would allow me to enjoy the peace and quiet. Man oh man, the country is peaceful – most of the time.
When my kids aren’t fighting. Or when the dog isn’t barking at the cats.
Okay, it’s anything but quiet out here. The birds, including a nice little woodpecker outside my bedroom window, love to make their presence heard. Chips and Dips, my barn cats, are dying to come in the house and meow at the door. Diesel sniffs them from the bottom of the front door from the inside, huffing and snorting like he’s taking his last breath of oxygen.
I hear gunshots for target practice and hunting. The donkeys next door holler. The cows down the road run on clockwork. I love the owls at night, but not the coyotes so much.
Yes, I do hear cars and trucks on the county highway near by. But compared to the city, it’s not nearly as loud, or annoying. And I’ve only been able to hear a neighbor’s party once in the year and a half I’ve lived here.
Maybe there’s much more I haven’t heard over the girls running around and screaming at each other, but I’ll have plenty of time to hear those sounds when they are gone. And speaking of people noise, people are always coming and going. It certainly isn’t lonely. Between friends, neighbors, workers, and the poor mailman who makes at least weekly trips up the driveway (I love amazon prime), there’s always activity. Oh – I should have mentioned the tractors and mowers and 4-wheelers and Bobcat and all the other farm machinery noise.
So that whole peace and quiet thing? Nah. Quiet? Rarely. But just this week, I’ve enjoyed rain on a metal barn roof with the company of a friend and neighbor, creaks and croaks of trees under the stress of ice build-up, thunder ice (yeah it’s a thing!), the girls playing on a snow day, wind whipping through our trees, and squirrels digging up some loot they buried back in the fall.
Peaceful? Without a doubt.