My last word on my trip to Decorah is to say how wonderful it was to experience a couple of instances of profound silence – and to realize how uncommon it is for me to enjoy that kind of silence in the course of my normal, day-to-day existence.    Once upon a time,  I went out of my way to make room for contemplative silence –  especially back in my college and graduate school days-  but somewhere along the line I put all of that behind me and now consider myself a rather stubborn cynic when it comes to meditation and the like.   It’s not that I don’t think some profound thoughts from time to time,  but I prefer to do so to the accompaniment of  Leontyne Price singing an aria from “Aida” or Dorothy and her mother sparring on a “The Golden Girls” rerun.   And even when Kathy and I are falling asleep, we much prefer to have our friend Mister T.V. on in the background.  Of course, there are those intermittent reminders of how beautiful silence is – especially on those occasions when I am at the Sinsinawa Retreat Center leading music for the Grace Institute.  There are no television sets in the rooms or much of anything else that makes noise,  so there is an all-enveloping silence there at night that is a magnificent symphony all its own.   And the tradition at those retreats is that from the end of Friday night vespers to the start of Saturday morning matins there is to be absolute silence from everyone – no talking at all – which felt sort of spooky the first time I experienced it but which now is something I eagerly await and deeply appreciate.  (Amazing for someone who likes to jabber as much as I do.)

Anyway,  I tasted some sweet silence during my time in Decorah. . .  and two instances were especially neat.  The first was when I was driving to campus to pick up Justin and Eric and bring them to supper.   As Anna and I were approaching the edge of campus,  we suddenly noticed a wonderful sight off to our left – – –   ten deer, quietly grazing in a field right alongside the highway.   No one was behind me,  so I stopped the car and we just sat and marveled at the sight. . .  and only gradually did I realize how incredibly quiet it was – and the quiet was almost as beautiful as those deer.

And then on my way home Monday afternoon,  as I was driving out of Decorah on what’s known as Old Calmar Road – a short cut of sorts – I spotted what looked like several pheasants in the field to the right – and when I pulled off on the shoulder and shut off the engine,  I could not believe how utterly silent it was. There was not the slightest sound of any kind-  no car in the distance,  no birds singing,  no leaves rustling.  It was absolutely quiet,  and it made me wonder what life was like for the first people who settled this land before there were iPods and cell phones and blackberries.   When life was often this profoundly quiet.   Maybe too quiet.   Maybe oppressively quiet or frighteningly quiet.   I wonder if quietness is most beautiful when it interrupts the cacophony of our modern lives.  In that respect,  this trip to Decorah gave me something besides the fun and excitement that is par for the course with the Spencer-Bergs.  It gave me a few fleeting moments of silence,  just before another wild semester at Carthage College is set to begin.