Yesterday afternoon, I made the two hour trip over to Chattanooga to help my brother and his wife move. They moved from a rental house in Harrison, TN, to an apartment closer to work and other activities, and it will be good for them, not least for the money they’ll save in gas. But I’m going to miss their house, at the end of a long gravel driveway, surrounded by woods, and the cookouts we had on their back porch on cool summer evenings. When I’m visiting them, like last night, their last night in the house, after everyone else is in bed, I love to walk up and down the driveway. The only sound you can hear out here is that of gravel crunching underfoot, over the ever present hum of crickets in the surrounding woods and the occasional dog bark or owl hoot off in the distance. It’s a welcome relief from walks in my neighborhood, where the high pitched squeals from the train yard a quarter mile away provide an almost constant soundtrack, and the sirens from the fire station across the street split the night air several times an hour. I relish the opportunity to get away from man-made noise, and wish I had the chance to do so more often.