Summer Silences

It took a week at a lake cottage in the woods of northern Maine to convince me, but now I know it is true: I have been deprived.

Yes, I — a modern woman with a contemporary home featuring ready access to a washing machine and dryer, dishwasher, television, computer, telephone, refrigerator and air conditioning — have been deprived.

The fact is, I've been missing out on a lot of quiet. I usually blame the kids for the interminable ruckus around here and, for sure, they are responsible for a lot of it. Before taking a “quiet” vacation, however, I hadn't realized just how much of the nerve-fraying noise in my life is self-imposed.

There are radio programs in the car, e-mail inbox pileups throughout the day, “important” conversations whenever the telephone happens to ring and television news reports every evening. It's not so much the actual sounds of these things that add stress to my life, but the mental clatter they create. All together, they can add up to a stress-inducing information overload.

My husband, Dan, has long recognized the “noise” of modern conveniences, and he is not afraid to rebel against it. For starters, even if he is sitting within arm's reach of a ringing telephone, he doesn't stir. When I come racing in from another room and trip over a pile of Matchbox cars in my slavish frenzy to answer it, he gently reminds me that the telephone is there for our convenience, not the convenience of others.

To add to my angst, years ago Dan insisted that we get rid of our home answering machine. Why? “Because we keep getting messages,” he explained.

Dan is not immune to the noisy lure of all modern technology and entertainment, however. During our stay in Maine, we both felt a little awkward when an unfamiliar silence settled over the cottage after the kids went to bed at night.

“Maybe this is too quiet,” he ventured that first peaceful evening.

“It's good for us,” I told him. “Now you can hear your inner voice.”

“I hear my inner voice,” he responded. “It's saying, ‘What's on SportsCenter?’”

Funny thing, though. During our “quiet” week, we heard plenty of noises. There was splashing and laughter as the children played on the beach. There was the calling of loons and the gentle lapping of water on the shores of the lake at night. There was the crackle of a campfire as we toasted marshmallows and then the peaceful chirp of crickets when we retired to our tent. There was a wild whir as the kids reeled in their catches and triumphant shouts when a fish landed in the boat with a satisfying thump.

On the sunniest day of our vacation, we packed a lunch, piled the kids into the boat and made our way to a small island in the middle of the lake. We swam in the clear, cool water and soaked up the sun. After lunch, Dan and I lounged in the shade beneath the trees while the kids went “treasure hunting” and collected mussel shells, smooth colored rocks and giant gull feathers. At the end of the day, we returned to our cottage, bathed the sun-kissed baby and put her to bed where she slept while we fried fresh fish for supper.

That night as I lay in bed, I thanked God for the blessing of my family and listened intently to the quiet that filled my ears. Something in the silence seemed to tell me: “Ever ything in the world that matters is right here with you now.”

Danielle Bean writes from Center Harbor, New Hampshire.