All quiet on the island

It’s quiet out here. There’s a stillness on the island that’s quite discernible right before winter hits. Gone are the tourists on golf carts and the smell of fish fry-ups along the Backshore – replaced with naked birch trees and tall pines quivering in the wind.

I am so used to noise, having spent more than a decade in Washington, DC and then Cambridge and then Brooklyn and then Cambridge once again. It takes some adjustment to wrap your mind around how quiet Peaks is in the winter. My friend Mira has written eloquently about it, calling it “Peak Season”.

This year in particular feels even quieter than normal with faces muffled by masks and outings limited to solitude walks or runs around the island loop. I remember reading something in the Times a few months ago that noted the remarkable drop in noise in big cities like New York at the beginning of the global pandemic. Save for the sound of sirens, which may have sadly increased, the streets lacked the normal cacophony commonplace in the city.

Snow also seems to increase the amplitude of island silence. While it hasn’t snowed yet, you can feel it coming. Kellie and I have pulled the Bean Boots out of the basement. Quinn’s winter jacket is ready – at least for a few months of use until he outgrows it, white belly poking out demanding an upgrade. Winter also brings a number of quiet outdoor activities, like sledding down the hill behind our house and lacing up old skates to slide silly on Great Trout Pond. I look forward to that. Mainers have discovered a multitude of ways to get outside even in the dead of winter when darkness seems to start at 3pm when the sun begins its quick descent.

I wonder what will happen when the pandemic is past us, when vaccines are distributed and masks hung up for hopefully a very, very long time. Will noise levels tick-up in big cities and small towns across the country? Or will the silence persist – people permanently adjusting to a quieter world. I have a feeling Peaks will remain blanketed for a little longer than most places, being an island and all. That is until the bottle rockets start flying off Battery Steele on July 4th ushering in the beginning of the loud, post-pandemic season.