LAURIE COX

Have you ever been haunted by a sound?

It was a lovely autumn evening, one of many we had this year. We sat outside, my husband and I, enjoying what we thought might be a last time by our fire ring as the air began to chill. Darkness surrounded us, except for those flickering flames — the sky blackened by clouds with just a faint star here or there showing through. Too late for bird calls, quiet in the neighborhood, the fire crackled, we shared occasional words.

Then came the sound: a single goose high above us, flying through the night. Its call surprised me. I love to watch a wedge of geese flying south on a fall day, or north as spring arrives. They are a harbinger of what is coming seasonally, but also a reminder of those with whom we share our world. I usually hear their many voices and look up to locate them, to guess which bit of marsh or lake they might be heading for. A lone goose in the dark seemed different.

I couldn’t help but think that it had somehow lost its family, its friends, its way. Why had it not settled in some wetland or perhaps a recently harvested cornfield? Did it feel too vulnerable to come to earth without a cohort? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was actually amongst a flock, taking its turn on audio, but that was not the image I held. The sound seemed so solitary, so lost in the night sky. Alone.

I read about how so many in our society are feeling alone. Not the person who is hiking the Long Trail or living in a small house in the middle of the woods. Rather the person who is scrolling through their phone while eating lunch with other people nearby, the one walking into their home with their eyes on that screen. For some people, the pandemic brought the opportunity to walk or bike outside with family or friends. I would see them going by my house, out on the trails, chatting as they passed. For others, it brought further isolation and more dependence on an online sort of life.

But we are, with few exceptions, social animals. We depend on one another not just for access to food or transportation. We need — we require — social interactions. In-person social interactions. An actual pat on the back, hug, or handshake, because we need physical connection. We need conversation and interactions with others to sort out our thoughts and accomplish needed projects.

I have to confess to feeling depressed this November, but what lifted me out of those feelings was being with other people. Not so much to discuss what I was feeling but to have connections. The settings that lifted me up the most were the two art-based activities with which I am involved. There is something about using your hands and the more creative part of your thinking that enhances the flow of thought, of conversation, and of connectivity, even though each of us works on our own piece. Around that time, I came upon an article citing the ways that art can help us build community, include a wider range of participants with varied viewpoints and experiences to come together. I thought about how I used to be part of a chorus, and the research that singing as a group — particularly in harmony — boosts both physical and mental health. The resurgence of board games, especially no-competitive ones, likely reflects this need.

Perhaps, as we approach this new year, we might explore more ways to build the arts into our own lives and those of others. Gift a teen (or a parent) with a pottery class, join a community chorus, start a writing group with people of all ages. And as we grapple with the issues of town and school budgets and futures, maybe seek ways to utilize art as well as sticky notes in our efforts to find direction.

Sometimes it seems so dark out there, it seems hard to find our way. Lonely, lonesome, alone — it doesn’t have to be that way. Perhaps that goose was calling out for its flock: “Where are you? I am here. Can I join with you?” The isolated person, bent over their screen, may actually be trying to say, “I am here. Come and be with me.” Consider art as a way to come together with others where small talk is not required. When social animals of whatever ilk are together, they are often merely going about doing their individual pursuits, but they are with each other, sometimes nudging or even bumping into each other. They feel the comfort and the safety of the group.

That’s why the lone goose’s call seems so mournful to me. It needs its flock. We all need that.

Laurie Cox is a retired school counselor and longtime Ripton Selectboard member. Besides occasional writing she pursues art, gardening, hiking with her dog, and is always striving to build stronger communities.