By Louie Ferrera

I walk out onto our back deck this morning just before dawn. Brilliant Venus is visible high in the indigo sky. As Earth spins towards the sun a thin band of orange and pink begins to appear in the east. Monet brush strokes paint the sky in pastel hues. It’s quiet, but quiet is a relative term. The drip and splash of our deck fountains breaks the silence. Much like the roar of the ocean, the wind through the trees or the gurgling of a mountain stream over stones, the sounds of the fountains enhance the silence. In the background however, I can hear the distant roar of the 101 freeway. It’s several miles away as the crow flies but in the stillness of this pre-dawn hour sound carries far. Living here in town, I know all too well that real quiet is hard to come by.

Luckily, I don’t have to travel very far in order to find true silence, as in the total absence of any sounds at all, as in pin drop silent. Carol and I just bought a camper van and decided to take it out on a test run. Normally we would never consider camping this late in fall but with our new home on wheels, a warm, dry space with electricity and a comfy bed is just steps away. Rain? Freezing temperatures? We don’t care!

We decided to head for Sugarloaf Ridge. Sugarloaf is an expansive state park in the mountains above the Sonoma Valley. It’s just 45 minutes from our front door but a world away. The campground is nestled in a narrow valley with gentle Sonoma Creek flowing along its edge. The park is so close to thousands of people yet when I’m here it feels like wilderness. Except for a few park buildings, there are few signs of civilization. And the quiet today, even during late afternoon, is nearly absolute.

There are many hikes to choose from here. Our hike took us a thousand feet above the valley floor. We walked through forest, up switchbacks and along a ridge top where the only sounds were our footsteps and the wind in my ears. Even the herd of deer that we surprised ran away with seemingly not a sound. We returned to camp at sunset and that’s when the real quiet began. Down here there was no wind, the creek made no sound, as the full force of winter rains had yet to give it voice. Being in the midst of such profound silence was like being embraced by a living, breathing entity. It took a little getting used to. Even during the quietest moments at home there’s always some kind of human made background noise. People  always seem intent on creating a din. 

Up here at Sugarloaf it’s absolutely still. This type of quiet is ideal for thinking, breathing and just being. Throughout the course of everyday life we are literally assaulted with sound. It takes determination and real effort to find true quiet but once I do, it helps me to realize the extent of the cacophony in our world and gives me a deeper appreciation for quiet when I’m in it. Spending time among the silence here at Sugarloaf Ridge allows me to access the silence within myself. For this brief time, I’m able to slough off the chitter chatter of the world, breathe and be fully present. I can literally feel the calm flow into me. My body and mind both get a much needed rest, in essence I’m “fueling up” on silence. I keep it in reserve and tap into it when the world gets to be too  much.