NOISE

My last post was about the gentle sounds of a retreating summer– the whine of insects, a rustle of drying plants in the breeze, the mumbling of geese as they assemble on a pond to fly south.

I’ve lived in Dover for thirty-six years, and for thirty-three of those years,  I must say, I was able to enjoy its beauty. Like everyone else here, I appreciated the trees, gardens, the open nature of the surroundings. We have a lovely, well-defined, yet understated town center. Our businesses and town buildings are well maintained, and for the most part the demands of commerce are carried out in an agreeable manner that is neither jarring nor overwhelming.

It’s a matter of scale I think. Dover is gentle on the eyes. 

But for me, and four or five of my neighbors, Dover is no longer gentle on the ears. Three years ago, in an effort to address the difficulty of crossing Dedham Street via the long-existing sidewalk to the entrance to Caryl Park, the town erected a raised crosswalk. This was intended to slow down traffic so cars would be more likely to stop and allow pedestrians to safely cross the busy street.

There is some debate as to whether or not that goal has been achieved. Some cars slow down, some stop, some don’t.

For the most part, cars just zip right over the raised crosswalk and there is little or no problem. But, at random, unpredictable moments, trucks bounce over the sidewalk, making a loud and disruptive racket. Empty dump trucks, cement mixers, any construction vehicle really, lawn-care trolleys, pickup trucks with unsecured cargo, pickup trucks with improperly secured cargo, panel trucks with loosely secured pull down doors. And this summer has been especially bad for this noise.

There is a good reason why the Mass DOT and the federal Department of Transportation recommend that raised crosswalks NOT be installed in areas where houses are in close proximity. They create too much noise. Unexpected, random, irritating noise.

This noise becomes the background against which my life is experienced. Working in the garden, eating a meal in the gazebo, sitting outside to read a book. Sitting inside to read a book. Trying to sleep in past 5 a.m. Trying to get a 15 month-old granddaughter down for a nap. Trying to rest through a bout of a noro-virus. Trying to rest through the early stages of coping with the death of a family member. The unpredictable crashing noise of trucks bouncing over the crosswalk punctuates, or  punctures my thoughts, my grief, my joy, my life.  

The representatives of the town told me to just get used to it. I can’t. Do something to mask the sound. So you’ll have to excuse me while I crank up my old Linkin Park CD’s so I can mask the loud unpredictable, meaningless and unnecessary noise of the crosswalk, with the loud but often meaningful noise of  eclectic punk.