Peggy Dover

Have you noticed the world can be a noisy place? Sort of like a resounding gong or clanging cymbal? Now, before I get ahead of my thoughts and run amok, I have great respect for gongs and cymbals in their prescribed score. 

Last week for her birthday, I treated Lynn to a trip through “Jurassic Park,” the movie. Our terrific Britt Festival Orchestra played the score with precise timing. This is a classic (’93), action-packed, knuckle-whitening extravaganza directed by Steven Spielberg with a mesmerizing score by the ever so gifted John Williams. With a relationship like that, it’s easy to float along trusting that the music will suggest what’s happening or about to happen. Music serves the visual experience. Movie scores are emotional roller-coasters, but they remain on track.

Sometimes noise is a byproduct of chaos as discussed by gifted mathematician, Dr. Ian Malcolm, a character in “Jurassic Park” played to perfection by Jeff *sigh* Goldblum. 

He specialized in chaos theory. A small change in a seemingly chaotic system can result in large and unpredictable consequences. Humans are good at this pattern without realizing it or the destruction that may follow. One small pronouncement or opinion uttered in a social vacuum, particularly within network anonymity, may result in centuries of disharmonic noise. I could go so far as to say that it has. 

Never is this truer than when the smallest grain of political dust is sown. Has there ever been a time when men and women sought to exchange opposing ideas in an atmosphere of peace and goodwill for the betterment of society? There I go trying to be Pollyanna again. Given the fallen human nature, I realize this is a pipe dream. 

The noise can be good; if the exchange of information can be received without fear and animosity; if we could only trust one another to care about something besides power and greed. 

Wow, I sort of went off. I guess my personal noise sphere has reached critical mass, but I’m fine. 

All this to say that the din has encouraged me to take a road trip to the other side to the sea of tranquility, one on our planet instead of our moon. Lane and I have a few choice spots for this sweet lack of activity and constant drive. One is the coast, for sure. Ah, those harmonic waves. Another is the Running Y Ranch Resort near Klamath Falls, this week’s escape. 

This time, I managed to snag a chalet, which is a completely furnished three-bedroom, two-bath house, with no shared walls. There’s a deck overlooking the serenading ponderosa pines and a loft tailor-made for daydreaming and writing. I can pretend I’m in the cradling branches of the evergreens that surround us. I’m packing up now and finishing this work there. Be back soon. 

Ah, we’re here. A chaotic stream gurgles and flows right by the cabin. As I go for a nap, all I hear is water in motion and delightful birds — a robin, Bullocks oriole, stellar jay, and my vultures soaring overhead, unheard, that followed me from Eagle Point somehow. 

Not yet, boys and girls, I tell them, not yet. 

The absence of traffic noise is utter bliss. I miss my cat boys, but I am not at their beck and meow; Gail is. She takes good care of them while I’m away, but Cricket still doesn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. The lad doesn’t trust anyone who’s not Peggy. 

I’ve considered buying one of these sweet chalets. There are a few for sale. I could write to my heart’s content. Why, I can imagine myself producing several magnum opuses. But the winter would mire me in introspection. I would need snow tires for Giovanni, that or a sled dog team. I would need friends to come and shovel me out.  

For now, it’s satisfying enough to know that I’m offline and at peace, except the infernal bright sun that came stalking through my window this morning, and those same infernal birds began singing before dawn. And, to increase the excitement, Lane just informed me that we have a large bat inside our unit. I’m not making this up. He saw him flying around last night. No wonder the midges have been few. Chaos. 

]Peggy Dover is a freelance writer/author. Reach her at peggydover@gmail.com.