We have been in Cochrane for six days now, doing almost nothing. That is because Gail got Covid and couldn’t do anything, and, right on schedule, I think I’ve got it too. She tested positive on the second try, but I’ve tried twice and did not test positive. But I am sick nonetheless, test results or not. By the time it’s over, we will have spent 10 days or so laying low.
But there are highlights anyway. We read books. We visited people we’ve known for years who just moved in within walking distance of where we are. Keeping distance and all that. I visited my favorite misanthrope who was golfing with his son, also within walking distance. We kept distance.
My favorite events, though, happen at night. That’s when the smells and sounds of Cochrane summer air come wafting through our window right by our heads, a feast for which there is no charge. It is a little problematic for Gail, because the window is on her side and I have to manoeuver right close to her head to get my snout in position, where I lay snuffling the air like a bloodhound. I would be mad if I were her, but she perseveres. As always.
And what’s on the summer air? A lotta good stuff, I’m telling ya. Logs and lumber from the nearby mill. The river and river vegetation from the nearby Bow River. Grass heated by the summer sun. Lots of smoke. Enough to keep any dog happy for awhile.
As for the sounds, there are birds scuffling around, trains in the distance, the neighbor’s AC unit, the occasional distant siren, and, my favorite, coyotes.
I know that most of you know what coyotes sound like at night, so I won’t try to describe it, but if you’ve never heard it you really should. It’s probably on utube.
I don’t know what got them going last night—a siren, maybe, or maybe they were hunting, but whatever it was, they were in full cry. Yipping and barking and kayaying to beat the band, and not so far away, either. It didn’t last all that long, but it made me happy I was not in a tent. From the moho, it was a vocal treat, enough that I woke Gail up and made her listen. She agreed that it was a pretty cool sound, then she rolled over and went back to sleep. She wouldn’t have done that in a tent.
Ya. Such are the treats granted to sick people, which, come to think, you might miss if you weren’t ill. A silver lining, we could say.
And finally, in the auditory department, here is something that has puzzled me for a long time. Trains have different chords and different pitches in their whistles; did you ever notice that?
There is, for instance, the classic “lonesome” whistle, which is three notes, A C and E, which produces a minor lament in the night. Makes you want to write a country song.
And then there is an “inversion” ( I looked it up) which consists of E, G, and C in that order, imparting a sense of business and accomplishment. (How do I know that? I just know it).
A third option is the opposite of the above, which consists of C E and G in that order, a forward-looking and optimistic sound. One of these trains would never run over your livestock on the track because when cows hear that they just want to live and so they get their fat asses off the track. That’s a scientific fact.
I googled train whistles, and, wouldn’t you know, there is a whole science devoted to it. People think about this stuff. When I’m not ill I will read it, but in the meanwhile I’m content to listen to trains and coyotes and snuffle the night air, 3 inches from Gail’s ear.
You can’t buy experience like that.
PS While we’re on the subject, think of cars horns. GM used to put a three-note “train sound” in their high end products, and I’m sure all the car makers research that to death. And patent whatever they come up with. I’m gonna pay more attention. Maybe I’ll write a letter to whomever puts that annoying, ineffectual little “beep beep” into small cars. That’s just embarrassing.
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