Virtual Cities and Oceans of If Residency, Day Five: Sounds of Home on the Island
It is overcast and about 70 farenheit on my island today. I know the whole world is burning up elsewhere, literally and figuratively but here there is the sound of a crow and the wind thru the trees. They say it may rain this afternoon. I am very tired but I am imagining the sounds that I might capture from this site.
The gulls come first in the daytime. Sometimes there is the put put sound of lobster boat motors passing by my wharf along the east side. This the rougher coast of the island because it is exposed to the open Atlantic. East side fishermen say with disdain that the West side is "tamer".
On the boats there would be more gulls and the constant lapping of the waves. The sound of traps being hauled up: a sort of scraping alongside the side of the boat, the half hollow thunk as the traps are set down to pull out the catch and then the louder more hollow metal on metal exclamation of a trap thrown onto the stack on board or the splash when they are loaded back down into the waters.
Perhaps there would be an occasional grunt from the sternmen, esp if someone has a twinge of back hurt. Conversation is mostly the cadence of male voices with the almost downeast twang and up down pitching characteristic of islanders. If there's a woman helping the pitches would be higher. It would all be punctuated by laughter at some clever quip from time to time. There would be some calling back & forth between the crew and the captain: gossip about who is with whom or got drunk last night and maybe a cry when someone sights a whale or a big shark. Seals are usually too ubiquitous to mention much, except the occasional curse at them for stealing lobsters from the fishermen. Of course, there would not be comments of regret that in fact, the other way of looking at it is that we are stealing THIER food. You might hear a seal bark from time to time.
At night it is the bullfrog. There may be others but apparently there is one king bullfrog with a distinctive, stentorian voice. If I could talk frog, I would like to know what he is saying: this land is my land. I control this world. A comforting fantasy. Well, no, for the time being, it is no fantasy. In the bullfrogs pond, as long as my cat can't get him, he does indeed own and control his corner of the universe. I am just jealous because I can't imagine an equivalent presumption.
The gulls come first in the daytime. Sometimes there is the put put sound of lobster boat motors passing by my wharf along the east side. This the rougher coast of the island because it is exposed to the open Atlantic. East side fishermen say with disdain that the West side is "tamer".
On the boats there would be more gulls and the constant lapping of the waves. The sound of traps being hauled up: a sort of scraping alongside the side of the boat, the half hollow thunk as the traps are set down to pull out the catch and then the louder more hollow metal on metal exclamation of a trap thrown onto the stack on board or the splash when they are loaded back down into the waters.
Perhaps there would be an occasional grunt from the sternmen, esp if someone has a twinge of back hurt. Conversation is mostly the cadence of male voices with the almost downeast twang and up down pitching characteristic of islanders. If there's a woman helping the pitches would be higher. It would all be punctuated by laughter at some clever quip from time to time. There would be some calling back & forth between the crew and the captain: gossip about who is with whom or got drunk last night and maybe a cry when someone sights a whale or a big shark. Seals are usually too ubiquitous to mention much, except the occasional curse at them for stealing lobsters from the fishermen. Of course, there would not be comments of regret that in fact, the other way of looking at it is that we are stealing THIER food. You might hear a seal bark from time to time.
At night it is the bullfrog. There may be others but apparently there is one king bullfrog with a distinctive, stentorian voice. If I could talk frog, I would like to know what he is saying: this land is my land. I control this world. A comforting fantasy. Well, no, for the time being, it is no fantasy. In the bullfrogs pond, as long as my cat can't get him, he does indeed own and control his corner of the universe. I am just jealous because I can't imagine an equivalent presumption.
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