Name that sound

An odd game I have found myself playing lately is, "Name that Sound"  Call it a reflex to boredom, call it a shift in emphasis, but what it is in my thin-walled trailer and in a town that has slowed-down considerably I hear new sounds and try to figure out what they are and where they come from.  It's odd how you can spend time in the city where sounds abound everywhere and not notice any of them particularly, but when the overall volume is brought down you notice the symphony of small sounds playing over the silence.  My sister-in-law goes nuts sometimes because of the clocks in our house; we'll often find our clocks in the porch because she was trying to read or sleep and all she could hear was that faint tick-tock of the clock.  In Caronport there is a fantastic symphony of sound which starts with the birds.  First of all, if you like bird-watching the two places I call home (BH and Caronport) are fantastic; Caronport has quite a different array of birds compared to the north.  Among all the birdcalls I hear in my trailer or walking about, the one that stands-out is the Burrowing Owl.  The Burrowing Owl hoots in the day, and not a day goes by that I don't hear it once.  There are other numerous birds which I lack knowledge to identify, but are wonderful to hear.  In regards to sound, one cannot fail to mention the mash of mass transportation at Caronport.  Aside from the usual expected noise of personal vehicles, it is very common to hear trains as they rumble by, the echoes of semis at night, and the numerous jets that fly from the Moose Jaw Airbase, including the famous Snowbirds as they practice.  The final area of sound that sticks-out to me is my own trailer; now that the days get quite warm, there is a daily concert of cricks and cracks as the trailer is heating by the sun and then cools off in the evening.
The daily song of sound has made me realize how polluted our world is with noise; so much so that we are often missing much that plays underneath.  Not only are we missing much, but we are producing this state of being that is greatly uncomfortable with silence or a lack of noise.  One of the aspects that made me feel much older than my fellow student is that the average student now needs noise to work; students would flock to the library to work, but would have cranked earbuds in their ears to work to and would break the silence that others like myself wished to find.
I dare someone to fight the urge to drown-out the world and take the time to bask in the silence and the quiet noise their world has to offer.

Sitting on the dock of the bay

One of my new hobbies in Caronport is the art of watching traffic; which seems ironic at first.  Obviously this is not an option one considers when one is caught up in the busy life of a student, but is drummed up when one is unemployed with little money, a scarce social life,  is far-enough away from family, and hasn't the option of mind-numbing television like everyone else.  However, aside from such a list, it does include my love for prairie scenery,  drinking coffee, and basking in the sun.  Caronport has its original coffeeshop "The Point" (known as the Pilgrim to former students) which allows me to enjoy such.  I have often found myself with nothing to do, but sit at the grand window facing the highway scratched on the prairie while warming myself  with java and the common star God uses to sustain life on this earth.  Somedays I  marvel in the grand prairie skies that provide a majestic canvas of fluffy clouds and a mosaic of colors at sunset.  Sometimes I marvel at the traffic which pumps travelers and commerce through this province on the vein of highway 1 or the grand rail snakes which cart grain and potash to distant lands.  Or I simply observe the cast of characters, who like I,  reside in this town from different areas and gather at this one place for coffee or subs.  The real interest, however, is often found in the few that venture off the highway to investigate this town and its gas station.
The other day, an old-timer pulled up in his beaten pick-up truck and wobbled in.  His weary knees plopped himself into a chair and he gazed around the coffee-shop for a few minutes.  Finally he looks to me and chirps, "Is it hard to get service here?"
I quickly replied, "Oh, there's no waitresses here.  What were you looking for?"
"They used to have great pie here; I'm looking for pie!" he exclaimed.
His comment took me back to my early days as a student here, when they did have great pies of many kinds and it saddened me to tell him, "They did have great pie, but those days are gone."
He nodded his head as he rose and said, " They're gone in many ways... I spend most of my time these days looking for great pie."
And with that he turned away and left.  I watched him drive away and resumed my stare on the prairie picture north of me.

Why CaronBORED?

Why have I made this blog?  Well, I like to think of this little town I reside in as two different paintings: One painting is full of many vibrant colors splashed about on a canvas in various shapes, blending in different ways; this is Caronport during the school year of Briercrest College.  The other painting is 3 basic colors in 3 basic shapes on a canvas, in fact they are on the other painting but you can't see them for all the colors splashed over-top.  If I ask you to write a paragraph about the first painting, it's not problem; you can write several pages on various aspects, but you never address the shapes underneath cause you don't see them.  If I ask you to write about the second painting, you have to really examine the painting and you write about details that would never cross your mind with the other.
Living in Caronport is two scenarios:  I could write about student life, the interaction of various beliefs, or geographic backgrounds intersecting together etc.  But what about when the students leave and there is just a minimal amount of people?  I find myself noticing different things, doing different things, and in the quiet snail pace noticing and asking different questions of myself.
I am currently graduated from the college, but still living in this town with little connect to the people living here, no longer connected to the school, and living mostly alone as my wife is studying in the U.S.  This may be completely boring to you and may merely be an exercise in writing my thoughts aloud, or it may expose some of your own feelings and thoughts.  I make no promises and offer no results.  I just write.