It was a gradual process getting accustomed to the farmyard sounds here. The chickens’ favorite hang-out, in the huge rhododendron just outside a bathroom of the house, was filled one morning with their preening & clucks. Availing myself of the facilities, I heard sudden loud cackling. It’s disconcerting to have a laugh track accompany one on the toilet. This sitcom has some uncomfortable humor.

‘Do not mimic Rory,’ I remind myself. She’s a Muscovy, a quackless duck that makes quiet, raspy meeps. ‘I’ll only get an annoyed hiss in response.’ Rory is old & kind of grumpy. 

I’ve gotten vigilant to the high-pitched, 2-toned giggle (hee-hee-hee-hee-ha-ha) of bald eagles. Their strangely wimpy calls aside, they’ll snatch fowl right from the yard.

Another hazard is Mrs. Peckinpah. A hybrid of a white Leghorn, like Edna here:

& the all-black (feathers, skin, & eyes) of an Ayam Cemani chicken. The result is called a Pearl Onyx, AKA Zombie chicken. This is Mrs. Peckinpah, running in for her closeup:

When young, she liked to be stroked on her ‘chin.’ A bit older, she’d chase you down & untie your shoelaces. Now, if you stand too long in one place, she silently sneaks up behind & stabs you in the calves.

One day I was in the Not-My-Tiny House. Sis doesn’t care for either of the titles I’ve given to distinguish it from my shed. The Manor House is too stuffy, the Big House evokes prison. I could call it the Real House, but then my tiny one sounds like a playhouse. Makes a kind of sense though– I’m the youngest sibling, the peewee in the family. Usually I call it a shed. A) it was built by a shed company, & B) the movie Adult Life Skills, where the main character is dysfunctional & living in a shed in her mother’s yard, is cringingly close to my truth. Anyway, I was in the actual house when I heard screeching.

I initially assumed one of the chickens was being assaulted & rushed to the backdoor, thinking ‘no, that sounds like rodent squeals.’ As I stepped off the porch all the chickens were just milling around as if nothing were amiss. Something then scampered out of the bushes not 10 ft in front of me. It ducked into a hole under the goat barn, but not before I got an eyeful.

At first I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing in the scant seconds it traversed my path. Thought ‘how is that chipmunk carrying a rat in its mouth? & why?’ I realized the creature was too streamlined & pale to be a chipmunk, & had rounded ears. The way it sort of undulated along brought to mind ‘ferret’. Looked up mustelids of the Olympic peninsula, & found a picture of what I’d just seen. The smallest North American predator, the Least weasel, was no more than 7” long, with a tawny coat above & a creamy white belly. Some people keep bird lists. My list contains any creature I encounter. 

Of all the times I’ve been camping it’s strange I’d never heard wild owls call before I lived in the woods. When camping with 4 friends back in my early 20s, young enough that all 5 of us crammed ourselves into a 2-person tent, we heard something more dangerous than a bear or cougar approaching.

We arrived late in the day, schlepped our gear to a remote area of the park, hastily pitched the tent & sardined in for the night. Some few hours in, the ground started throbbing. Followed by rhythmic quaking. Next came the unmistakable sound of jangling freight cars, a horn, & a flash of light through the trees. I panicked for a moment that we’d camped on the tracks. After several minutes of rumbling, it finally passed. The next day we discovered the rails about 20 ft away, hidden by some small trees.

Now in my shed I hear the barred owls call frequently, the signature Who-COOKS-For-You’s, as well as just single hoots. Sometimes there’s 3 or 4 of them, all calling from different directions like singing a round or sounding a roll call.

This past summer I was up late typing a story by an open window because it was too hot to sleep. I’d been hearing an unusual noise for the past half hour. In a low register, kind of like a frog’s song but none I’d ever heard before. It was close. There’s a large cedar right outside that window, & I was curious to see who was in it. I grabbed a flashlight & opened the door to my shed, realizing ‘I’m that character who investigates a strange croak in the forest only to be the first one preyed upon by a techno-enhanced invisible extraterrestrial.’

A large shadow moved silently in my peripheral vision, but was gone before I could get a good look. The next day I googled ‘what creature makes an rrrrrrrr-rup-rup sound at night on the Olympic peninsula?’ & was surprised it was a barred owl. I got the feeling the owl had been perched on a branch outside my window, watching me. Perhaps I was the only thing moving, & done hunting for the night, I was their show. Wonder what review they would’ve given me? ‘Engaging, until the actor breached the 4th wall.’

When my sister brought home 2 rescue pygmy goats for Tucker (whose buddy Timmy had passed & goats need friends), we got to experience some new sounds on the farm. Here I thought chickens cause endless mirth with their funny behaviors & vocalizations. Just wait till you add a female goat into the mix. Even though both the males were neutered, when a female is in season they have something to say about it. 

As I was walking laps around the property, a daily routine, there came across the yard an overstated maniacal laughter. As if Tucker was channeling that famous Paul Reubens persona. Exaggerated chuckles erupted at odd intervals. It sounded completely ridiculous. Now I look forward to whenever Izzy is in season for the randomly-generated comedy.

I began to wonder about the other ruminants I saw outside the fence. There are lots of deer here, & it got me thinking whether they say anything. The ones I see never have antlers & often have young with them, so I’ve taken to referring to all as does. I see them in the neighbor’s yard quite frequently because he feeds them. Sometimes there’ll be 4 or 5 does lying around his yard, grooming & relaxing. 

By the fence between his property & ours recently I saw a single doe just hanging out, chillin’ & nibbling grass. Another deer came sprinting up, as if spooked by something, yet obscured behind foliage to the doe just loitering in the yard. The running deer crashed through the bushes near the spaced-out one, who blurted out “Wah!” before bounding off herself. What sounds do deer make? They scream just like me.