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The ditches had a congregation of cows and calves at the weekend, as a biting north-easterly wind blew across Clonakilty Bay.
Those whose colour preference in paddocks is green and nothing else might be disgusted to see a cover of dandelions and daisies, but they serve a purpose – there’s a steady hum of bumble bees at work.
With no phone coverage for the best part of two weeks, I’m picking up those natural sounds more without interruption. I’ve often thought how pleasant it might be to not have the phone ring for a while, however I’ve discovered it’s a bit more stressful than I had imagined. A signal booster in the house broke a few years back. While I missed it initially, the fact I had an element of control over when the phone rang was enjoyable.
Wi-Fi helps, but will only do so much and is only available in the house anyway. When you’re accustomed to constantly being in contact and that option isn’t available, it’s hard to run a business.
I think I’d actually like to hear the phone ring now. The new-found silence got me thinking about some of the sounds and experiences that I may have taken for granted before.
There’s plenty of sports replays on TV at the moment, but I’d like to watch a match and not know what will happen next. There’s a joy in that unknown. At least then, there’s no personal consequences. Unlike, for example, leaving cattle out of the house for the first time. Yes there’s uncertainty, but also potential negative consequences.
They tear off, inspecting the bounds of a field. Behind the wire, the roadside ditch provides a great visual to curtail them, but as they turn inland and face a double wire fence at speed, it’s a different story. In those seconds, you despair at the bovine ability for the unexpected, as you envisage a few hours driving poles and untangling wire. Nine times out of 10 you win, but it’s the lower odds you think of.
I always enjoyed the vocal spontaneity of crowds. It’s varied and unpredictable. Strangers roaring in unrehearsed unison at their teams. Mart crowds are slightly different. There, it’s the silence that stands out. Normally, there’s a constant murmur of talk as a backing track to the auctioneer. Then, two bidders get stuck on an animal and perhaps lose control, but they can’t stop. The silence has a ripple effect as it leaves the ringside and disperses itself into the crowd. With each tenner bid, more talking stops. The silence becomes more pronounced as the bids move to fives, until all you can hear is the auctioneer and the pair up the back chattering away, oblivious to the bidding battle. Eventually, even they stop and all eyes bounce from one bidder to the other, fixated on the next bid.
Somewhere in that silence, sense prevails and one bidder stops. The gavel falls. I can never figure out if they’re disappointed because they missed out on a purchase or happy that they’ve let someone else pay over the odds. Maybe they never know themselves.
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