The Exeter Life: The Daily Symphony

I’ve been out of town for two weeks. But I carried the sounds of daily life in Exeter with me to the west coast.

I’ve lived in one place long enough now to recognize the noises outside my window without looking. I am reassured knowing that each day is punctuated by the wonderfully predictable sounds of my neighbors living their lives, even when I’m not there to hear them.

In the early days of life in Exeter, I began to recognize the regularity of easy things like the train passing through or the bells from the church at Phillips Exeter ringing at 10:00 am on Sunday mornings. Then one morning at 6:20, in the silent dead of winter, I heard the steady—ch-ch-ch-ch—of sneakers on the pavement and knew, without looking, who was jogging past. I don’t know her by name, but she’s a fixture in my Exeter life. I call her the All Season Runner. Perhaps she frequents your neighborhood too. She’s an older, lean woman with short gray hair, pink cheeks and oversized wind suits who jogs slowly but steadily through blazing heat and along icy streets.

That was the morning I knew I really lived here. Since then, I’ve expanded the list of sounds that punctuate my day like hourly chimes on a grandfather clock. Here’s a snapshot of my auditory morning:

6:20 am: The All Season Runner beats “ch-ch-ch-ch-ch” on the pavement.

6:40 am: Twitchy Foot The Bus Driver gooses past the house.

7:00 am: Roller wheels on a briefcase scratch down the sidewalk toward the train station. Lawn mowers whir to life (on Friday mornings only) on the school lawn.

7:10 am: The bells at the railroad crossing signal the arrival of the Boston bound Downeaster.

7:50 am: The school crossing guard pulls up outside my front door in his red hatchback and cuts his engine.

8:00 am: The family flash mob descends on Lincoln Street School for morning drop off. Shouts and "Goodbyes!". Car doors slamming. Engines idling (we should have a talk about that one, parents).

8:30 am: Otis howling in agony two doors down as his family leaves for work.

9:00 am: Silence except for the occasional passing car or my upstairs neighbor leaving for work.

Mid morning: The small excited voices of the Great Bay Kids Company preschoolers, out for their morning constitutional, exclaiming about what’s growing in the flower garden.

There are other predictable sounds, of course, that round out the concerto of life on my street. Molly, the Resident ‘Tween Ring Leader, directing her band of young followers in complicated games on the sidewalk. Tyler, the Escape Artist Collie, barking at every person who deigns to walk along his fence. And my professional drummer neighbor and his daily 3:00 pm practices.

Last week, as I sped along the coast of Oregon and California, all this continued in my absence. And I found myself wondering, what is my contribution to the daily symphony? Does the noise of my car starting lend regularity to someone’s day? Does my return home each afternoon reassure a neighbor on their regular dog walk? Did anyone notice an unusual quiet at a time of day when I usually provide the sound?

All these years, and I’ve never met the All Season Runner, couldn’t pick out Twitchy Foot The Bus Driver from a crowd and am unknown to the pint size admirers from whom I gather so much joy. But all these strangers create an auditory web of community around me and make my life here what it is.

Who makes up your daily symphony?