During my shifts at the reception desk for Dartmouth’s admissions and financial aid offices, manyof campus visitors ask me for recommendations on places to tour around campus. The Hopkins Center for the Arts comes to my mind first, with its glamorous glass view overlooking the campus from the second floor; then, the Hood Museum, with its unique, seasonal exhibitions; and thirdly, the library, which offers a view of Dartmouth’s busy-bee students. This experience has made me think about how inherently visual we are as humans, and it’s particularly interesting for me to observe this pattern as someone studying cognitive science. How much do we pay attention to the sounds of Hanover?
Here are a few sounds I’ve come to appreciate.
Although I live behind Dartmouth Hall, all of my life happens on the other side of the campus. First thing in the morning, I bike my way over the little hill from Ripley Hall to the Green. On my way, I see a massive wave of students walking in different directions, most of them coming out of their 9Ls. I hear chatter that’s so ingrained in our daily lives: “Oh, now what are you up to?” “How have you been?” “I haven’t seen you in a while!” In the background, it’s hard to ignore the sounds of groundskeepers and construction workers — early risers working to make our campus more beautiful.
The sound of the Green deserves special attention. It’s often a busy spot. Kudos to those who can still study in the midst of people playing spikeball, people passing by on their bikes or scooters, people playing with their kids or dogs and people just chatting together. Despite this mix of chaotic sounds, some students remain deeply focused and I’m thoroughly impressed. When I’m on the Green, it’s either for relaxation or as a gateway to go somewhere else.
Another sound I love is the Baker tower bell. Everyday at 6 p.m., when it chimes with our alma mater, I hum along in my head like it's a patriotic anthem, feeling so passionate about being part of Dartmouth: “Dear old Dartmouth, give a rouse // For the College on the hill.” It reminds me of the end of my Orientation Week, when my classmates and I sang it together with candles in our hands. It also reminds me of how quickly our time on campus is passing by.
When I lived in the Choates in my freshman year, I frequently visited Occom Pond and Pine Park. I loved disconnecting from the busyness of the campus for a bit and just lying down on the grass. Did you know you can hear the Baker bell even from there? I can also hear the sound of a train passing by, but I still don’t know where the train station is. If you visit Pine Park place at night, the sounds are even more stirking: You can hear insects and, occasionally, deer running. Earlier in the day, you’ll hear birds chirping, and you might understand why Henry David Thoreau, Robert Frost and Claude McKay loved New England spring so much.
While sitting in my 10A and 2A classes, I sometimes regret choosing these time slots. How can I just sit there in a square classroom when so much is happening outside?When even the sight of a squirrel feels more compelling than my routine, when birds are singing to me in languages that my cognitive science degree can never quite comprehend? Inside, all I hear are the voices of my professors and the steady rhythm of students typing on their laptops.
When classes end, I find myself rushing to grab my bike and escape somewhere green. The sound of riding a bike is something I really appreciate, a familiar beat I’ve known since childhood. Back in Uzbekistan, I biked long distances to buy groceries. Now this form of transportation is for joy, movement and a sense of freedom. I’m impressed by students who have the patience to walk everywhere, but when I bike, I feel a heightened sense of awareness. I notice my surroundings more carefully, and I hear the wind rushing past my ears, lifting my hair as I go.
As funny as it might sound, the sound of buses — namely, the Dartmouth Coach — reminds me distinctly of Dartmouth. They become less frequent over winterim, when campus falls into near silence. Their sound carries movements: Someone arriving after a long trip from Boston or New York City, or someone leaving Hanover behind in search of something new. Adding to this modern soundscape, I think of the audio signals at the traffic light at the intersection of Collis and Hanover Inn: “Walk sign is on… 12, 11, 10…”
I don’t usually listen to music around campus. When I do, it really means I want to turn inward and be alone with my thoughts. These days, I’m listening to “Farketmeden,” a Turkish song. Those who know me well, know my passion for Turkish music. When I don’t want lyrics to fill my mind, I listen to classical pieces like “Mariage d’Amour” and “River Flows in You.” These songs offer an escape from the constant cycle of assignments and expectations. “Farketmeden” means “without noticing,” or “unconsciously” in Turkish. Farketmeden, we might let slip opportunities to experience the quiet, beautiful sounds that surround us every day.
