The Sound of Silence

The Sound of Silence

July, 2017

...only exists as long as it remains unmentioned. The very description ends its existence.

On this trip, the Trucker and I have shared much more sound than usual, yet there has been more silence between us than usual. The reason? Lack of air conditioning.

Detouring to Whitefish, the trail took us through construction. There, traffic is not routed around construction, but over and through it. Pardon the PA Dutch use of back to back prepositions (I remember my father saying on occasion, “Here he comes, over through the yard.” And my mother responding, “Which is it? Over or through?”), but we really did go over and through, piles of dirt and gravel, dips and ruts. The jolting and shaking pushed a part or piece of the air conditioning system past its limit of endurance, and suddenly we felt the real world.

No worries. This is Montana. Near the mountains. This won’t be so bad, especially since there is not the east coast’s humidity. Wrong. It seems 95 degree days aren’t unusual, though air conditioning doesn’t seem to be a standard housing feature here. 

We learned Montana air conditioning is to open your windows overnight, when the temperatures drop to the low 50’s. Mid-morning, when the cool breeze is still stirring your curtains, windows are closed and remain so for the day. The process does trap in the cool overnight air, but for folk like me who need to feel air movement, the atmosphere can become rather stifling.

After a lovely visit with Potter’s Field Ministries, where the staff went out of their way to care for us, show us the program, and allow us to experience the sense of community, it was on the road again. Back to the silence, or lack thereof.

This trip, my collection of “to do while riding” included things like a book to read aloud to the driver, sermon/teaching recordings to hear, issues needing discussion and a plan of action, among others. But...lack of a cool breeze within the truck required open windows in the cab and vents in the bunk. Which admitted sound. Of wind whipping in and slapping sweat off our faces. Of that E model Cat with six inch pipes, rumbling beneath and beside and befront us. Of the high pitched rush created by passing trucks, with their own versions of Cats and pipes.

Any communication between the Trucker and his Passenger necessitated yelling. (Hmmm….what were the topics we needed to converse about again??) Or I could slip out of my seat, stand in the bunk behind the Trucker, and speak into his ear while braced against the swaying truck.

I’ve realized again how draining and wearying a constant onslaught of noise can be. Hour after hour the engine noise, the wind, the heat. And the sense of getting “nothing” done. Anything involving speech and hearing is off the table. Which leaves reading...and writing.

After two days of pondering, and trying fixes with the tools on hand, the Trucker successfully restored the flow of cool air. For a blessed day, we once again traveled in the quiet coolness of air conditioning. Alas, this too ended, and we were back in the wind. So, we sit in companionable silence while the miles roll away under us.

This too, is love: to be totally comfortable in the presence of another, no matter the conditions. There is silence in and between us, while the Cat rumbles under and beside and befront and the wind slaps sweat from our faces.