April 30, 2024

Silence

I woke up at 12:15 AM feeling sick to my stomach. I must have eaten something bad because I was ill for the next two hours. A little after 2:30 AM, I finally fell back asleep. When I woke up in the morning, I wasn’t one hundred percent, but I certainly felt better. My wife called me a few times to check up on me and I was happy to hear she slept well. If she had been home, she would have been up worrying about me.

The morning was quiet, and the air was cool. I filled up a watering can and gave the flowers and ferns a drink before the day warmed. I also watered the new plants in the garden. This morning, I understood why my wife gardened. Apart from reaping fresh fruits and vegetables, the garden’s daily needs fulfilled many of mine. I was outside in the quiet, walking around nature, interacting with her. This experience allowed me to cultivate not just the plants, but myself, the environment, and my relationship with it.

Today, I wanted to try something new. I wanted to engage in a practice of silence. Apart from meetings, phone calls, and the sound of my mechanical keyboard clacking, there was no social media, no internet, not even any music. Just me and the task at hand, working to a soundless beat and silent rhythm.

The experience was fulfilling, and it helped me realize the enormous tax that superfluous experiences, like watching videos on Instagram or YouTube, come with a price. And depending on the goals I was trying to accomplish, this unnecessary expense could be a hefty one. I originally viewed these kinds of activities as a break from work, a way to re-energize and reset before I had to do things that were less fun. Today, however, it became apparent that while moments engaged on the internet were indeed time away from work, they also expended valuable mental energy I needed for other important tasks.

The silence, at first, felt awkward, and I found my brain craving stimulation. What was I supposed to do, just sit there? That’s when it occurred to me that dabbling on the internet, no matter how short, was a type of disengaging from reality. For me and my personal life philosophy, that was a big no no. By the end of the day, I understood my mind had more energy to complete personal tasks, and silence became something I wanted to devote myself to as a practice.

Work was productive, even though I was not at my physical best. My stomach was still getting back to normal, and I hadn’t slept well. During my lunch break, I took some time to sit in quiet meditation in my office. After, I dropped off the trash at the service center, made a quick run to the Piggly Wiggly for some groceries, and came home ready to resume work. 

After work was over, I was eager to get into the woods. My wife and I spotted some large turtles last week, and I had been visiting the creek each day to photograph them. I made my way toward Beaver Tooth Rock, stopping to take a brief rest while checking the trail camera. There were several videos of a raccoon and opossum passing by and gathering snacks. I grabbed my gear and walked as quietly as I could toward the area where the turtles had been.

When I arrived near the creek, I didn’t see the turtles, so I kept approaching, stopping to search for them with my telephoto lens, and then inching closer. At the creek’s edge, the roiling water with small air bubbles indicated they were likely submerged. I attempted to see through the murky water, but no shapes were discernible. A deer barked to my left, and I heard the familiar sound of branches cracking as the herd ran across the creek to the north. I resumed studying the water, looking for the reptiles.

After a couple of minutes, I looked up to my left, and to my surprise, there was a young doe about thirty yards away, frozen, staring right at me. I had enough time to aim my camera and fire off four shots, and then she was gone. The deer had been watching me the entire time. Maybe she was looking for turtles too. It was one of those evenings where I walked into the woods, just as I always did. I had my camera in hand, the proper settings dialed in, and was prepared to see something special. On most days, those moments never came.

This evening, one of those opportunities occurred, and I was ready. I was ecstatic the whole walk home, knowing that I captured a good image of the deer. These moments were rare, but kept wildlife photographers going into the woods daily. I suppose this reward was akin to a gambler winning a jackpot, but where the gambler lost money to make money, the photographer always exited the woods enriched, even if there were no jackpot winnings.

After I arrived back at the house, I put away my gear and walked out into the pasture and lied down in the hammock for an hour. I didn’t sleep, but it was relaxing to end a day of silence in the only type of noise that I didn’t find noisy. The wind rushing through the treetops, a cardinal singing; a woodpecker thumping on a tree. The silent life had treated me well today, and I decided I would further isolate myself, within reason, from any noise that was not a real-time experience. 

Later, I built a fire and threw a ribeye on the Traeger that I shared with the dogs. The evening was quiet and slow, and I was ready to catch up on the sleep I missed the night before.