It has happened before, but not often and it's startling every time. In summer, I wait until the deck is in shadow before going out to water lest I wilt like the poor plants so Bessie and I went out in the late afternoon yesterday. Even before I turned on the faucet it struck me: there were no sounds, none of the normal noise of the mountain going on about its business. No bird chatter, no truck engines sometimes heard over on Mt. Aukum, no weed-whackers or chainsaws, no voices or music from neighbors, and the light breeze wasn't enough to rustle the leaves. Shaddup wasn't yelping; in fact no ground squirrels raced through the yard, period. Helper Dude wasn't roaring up the road on his dirt bike or quad. Even the chickens were quiet. No planes flew overhead. It was as if some apocalyptic event had occurred and Bess and I (and my animals) were left standing. It was downright eerie and it lasted for a long time. The spell was finally broken when a plane flew over and a few vultures began to circle on the thermals. We weren't alone.
The only other signs of life were not welcome. A hose reel is attached to the house and I noticed a few wasps hovering near it as I went on down the line of pots. When I was finished with the plants, there were even more of those evil little insects. Well, this won't do. Turning the nozzle to 'jet,' I squirted the reel and wasps started falling out. Without mercy, I stomped on them like I was doing a tarantella. Slowly and cautiously, I turned the reel until I found the mud nest inside and completely destroyed it. Wasps are not welcome here.
I like living in the peace and quiet here, but there is a thing as too much quiet.