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Shouting at Airplanes

Don Quixote tilted at windmills.  I shout at airplanes. 


Because when you live in the middle of nowhere at 9000 feet elevation, you realize just how noisy, really, incredibly noisy, airplanes are.  In fact, right now I am listening to Sirius Satellite radio "The Coffee House" and in the background, even from inside my cabin, what do I hear?  The big booming sound of the passing of a jet airplane.  If I were to go outside, I would not hear cars, or ambulances, or children playing at a schoolground or in a backyard, or any other typical human habitation sounds, like lawnmowers, leafblowers or chainsaws. 

Outside I hear the wind in the aspen and ponderosa, the drip drop of water from melting snow on the roof, the chitter chatter of chickadees, the sqawks and whistles of the camp robbers, and the light music of Elk gently calling to each other "I am here, where are you?"  The wind will brush through the long grass, and I will breath a sigh of contentment feeling deep gratitude for the lovely sounds of this wild part pf the world... and then it will happen: 


The Jet announces its presence above.

"SHUT UP!"  I shout. 

And the dogs look up at me from the porch.  "You mean us? But we are being quiet.... So what?" 

I  look up at the airplane, and the dogs look up at the jet airplane, and relax again and then try to change the subject to improve my mood, 

"Hey! Grumpy...Let's play catch the kong football!  Come on... you know you want to!"

Yeah. I guess I do.

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