A Naif in the Forest by Darrell Berger

Wing Tips to Hiking Boots: Musings of a New, Full-Time Poconos Resident

The previous photos for this blog have been literal. If I wrote about a bug, the photograph was of the bug. This week is different. The photo is intended to be representative of “peace and quiet.” It was taken just beyond my back yard. 

I didn’t know how to photograph “peace and quiet” other than to show a place where I find it. “Peace and quiet” is a relative term. When I lived in Jersey City and emerged from the PATH train after a day in Manhattan, I was always appreciative of the peace and quiet that greeted me. Part of the attraction of the forest for city dwellers is peace and quiet. One of the joys of living here is that the peace and quiet is always with me. 

An unintended consequence of living more quietly is greater awareness and sensitivity when that quiet is disrupted. While I once ignored the noise of the traffic heading for the Holland Tunnel, I now sometimes react to a single truck or motorcycle announcing its presence on our lightly traveled road. In the spring, the early birds seem to raise quite a racket. I am sensitive when a new neighborhood leaf blower, chain saw or all-terrain vehicle reports. 

I seldom react to gunfire, however. It is as much a part of the forest’s soundtrack as woodpeckers. It has a seasonal arc and rises during holidays. Hearing dozens of shots here is less ominous than a single pistol shot in Jersey City. 

The quiet of the forest integrates the senses. Irish poet Robert Lynd wrote, “In order to see birds it is necessary to become a part of the silence.” As I learn to walk slowly and quietly through the forest, I become more aware of what I am seeing, touching: this rough bark and that smooth, damp moss, the largest trees and smallest insects. I embrace the near silence and recoil when some random human invention a quarter-mile distant interrupts it. If I have failed to become part of the silence, at least I honor its passing.