It’s like a feathered vocal flashmob outside every morning and it’s worth getting up early for.
Village sounds are season related, just like Village smells.
In the beginning of the year the village is relatively quiet. Around the end of January, depending on the weather, there’s snapping sounds coming from the vineyards when villagers prune their vines. Around February/March the tractors come out of their sheds, filling the village with their whirring. Villager O’s ancient tractor, which ought to belong in a museum, stands out, it creaks and rattles.
The sounds of birds dominate early Spring and I always sigh a breath of relief when hearing the first cuckoo. His call announces Spring, although sometimes he arrives wearing a winter coat and umbrella. The Hoopoe is next.
In March the first crickets begin to chirp, but there is an extremely loud variety here which does so in the evening and it’s not exactly chirping. It’s near deafening hence probably made illegal in other European countries.
When it’s getting warmer and the villagers are in a good mood, there is humming and singing and when they have colds they make that typical guttural throat clearing noise which is awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time.
Villager often J sings, soprano voice. Butcher friend whistles the most entrancing tunes I’ve ever heard, accompanied by the creaking of his donkey cart. I always expect he’s being followed by other creatures just as entranced as I am, an alternative rat catcher of Hameln. Quite astonishing a man that ugly can produce that beautiful sounds.
The sound of little hooves always makes me go outside, just in case a donkey has escaped.
On Sunday morning the village women replace their books and trainers for shiny polished church shoes, and it’s clicking heels.
In Autumn it’s more tractors, donkey carts and wheelbarrows, when the harvesting is on the way.
During the rain season dripping noises indicate the roof still hasn’t been entirely fixed.
In December the squealing starts. It completely unnerved me the first time I heard it, sometimes it goes on far too long until you’d hear the bang of the gun, knowing it is over. I’m not religious but I tend to pray for it to be quick.
This year the noises indicating Spring arrived late. The cuckoo was late, the crickets were late.
But I heard a fly beforehand. I normally find those immensely irritating, their buzzing, but in this case it felt, for just a few seconds, like summer already.
Sometimes hope arrives on the back of a single buzzing fly: the reassurance that no matter what, the seasons will change.