Recently, while we were away on holiday on the edge of Langebaan lagoon, I was awakened by the unusual and fascinating sounds of the early morning. I dressed warmly, armed myself with coffee and crept outside to embrace the new-born day. I listened to seagulls squawking belligerently as they squabbled over seafood specials. I heard the lap and swash of the shoreline, the clinking of fishermen’s bait cans and the distant drone of a fog horn from the harbour. On that white, foggy morning there was low visibility, and coupled with my own poor ‘visibility’ I decided to appreciate the sounds with my eyes closed. The experience made me realise how much there is to hear when I take the time to notice it ….or whatever the equivalent of noticing is in sound terms.
I set my voice recorder on my phone, placed it on the gate post and saved the cacophony of sound which accompanied the waking world. It has recorded a moment that I can relive every time I listen to the audio clip. It even ignites the memory of the cold air stinging my cheeks and the salty smell of seaweed and wet sand .Sound memories for the vision impaired are as photo memories for the sighted.
I have started recording ordinary circumstances as keepsakes – like the sound of the family pottering around on Sunday afternoons and the sound of a bird call while I hang the washing. What do I call the sound version of a ‘selfie’? Maybe an ‘audie!?
Now I just need to work out how to save a sound album instead of a photo album.