Levels were set a bit higher this time, so it’s a louder recording, though I’m not sure that better. Two bats, seemingly very energetic.
Category: Sound Diaries
Just one bat this time.
This summer I have been gardening a lot; the days are long and hot and my preferred time to do a few jobs is at dusk when things are cooler. I weed, water things, check on plants, pot on seedlings, tidy away tools. When I am done, I watch the sun set over the shoulders of the houses, and I listen to the sounds.
There is an amazingly regular sequence to the dusk;
First, the blackbirds make their announcements; alarm calls usually, because of a fox that has made its home next door. Then the swifts start moving in dribs and drabs across the sky. Their high pitched sounds drift down as they head home to roost, and sometimes they are joined by a lone seagull, its mournful cry unfurling on the air. To this mix are added police sirens wailing from the town, the occasional gate latch squeaking in our street, and the low, omnipresent rumble of the traffic. The suburban dusk, the sound of home.
Then, out of the inky trees, fluttering shapes appear, moving in crooked lines in the dark: bats.
There are at least two. They circle the garden nightly, hoovering up the moths and mosquitoes and sometimes skimming just over the top of my head.
One night, watching this lovely, quiet dance, I decided to make a sound diary of their comings and goings and to share my recordings here.
I got a Magenta Bat4 Precision detector to plug into my Edirol R-09, and shall make infrequent recordings with this set up throughout the summer. Sometimes my partner, Mark, will join me. The detector has a speaker on it, enabling us to listen to the bats together while I record, and as we don’t speak in the frequency range for which the detector is designed, we can talk without altering the recordings. This makes this one of the most sociable recording ventures I’ve ever embarked on!
This is the first recording, made on 25th June at 22:26 in the evening. We stood by the back door and listened, marveling at our tiny flying mammalian comrades, who are – like the blackbirds, the swifts, the fox, the sirens, the seagulls and the cars – another feature of the place that we call home.
The detector parses the echo location sounds produced by bats into frequencies that humans can hear. The Common Pipistrelles which visit our garden produce sounds at around 39 – 49kHz. I won’t edit the recordings apart from taking out silence at the start. Silences between sounds are left in, as these are the timings produced by the bats as they flit in and out of different gardens on their nightly insect rounds, and leaving them in gives some sense of the time spent, standing, at dusk and listening and laughing, in wonder.
– Felicity Ford
Here is Liis, spinning on an Estonian double-drive spinning wheel.
During her travels in Estonia, Felicity learned from Julika that double-drive wheels became popular in rural Estonia throughout the 1800s and during the following century. Even after serfdom was abolished, villeinage was still payable by village dwellers to German Landlords, and women sometimes paid this villeinage in handspun yarn. The first Estonian vocabulary for different parts of the spinning wheel comes from the end of the 18th century as well as the beginning of the 19th century. In the larger cities spinning wheels were used earlier – from the 16th century – but in the countryside, textiles for the family were largely produced from sheep-to-shoulders entirely in the home, and workable yarn was quicker to spin on a wheel than with a drop-spindle. The double-drive wheel allowed Estonian women living outside of the big cities to churn out all the yarn required by demanding Landlords and the need to clothe their families. Julika has an article on the history of handspinning in Estonia coming out in Yarnmaker magazine if you want to learn more about this subject.
Felicity also learned from Liis that the double-drive wheel is appropriate for spinning very fine, high-twist yarns at great speed. These qualities have influenced much of the historic knitwear in Estonia – especially intricate colour work and delicate lace shawls – which could not have been produced with the thicker, chunkier, lower-twist yarns produced on other types of wheels.
Liis also discusses the tradition of women handing their spinning wheels down through the generations.
In contrast, the sound of yarn being industrially spun in the UK – at a historic and still-functioning mill – is presented alongside this domestic, historic, Estonian sound. At the time when the double-drive wheel was spreading throughout rural Estonia, many of the communities in the UK which had created textiles domestically were being transformed by various inventions and the industrial up-scaling of UK woollen cloth production. Where for centuries families had scoured, spun and woven woollen cloth at home in the UK in systems similar to those found in Estonia, giant mill complexes shifted the production of textiles from the home into the factory.
It is conceivable that if one could have had an ear in Estonia and an ear in the UK during the early 1800s, one could have simultaneously heard the sounds of spinning wheels and spinning mills. Felicity is still trying to ascertain when the first spinning mills appeared in Estonia, and when exactly the widely-spread practice of creating woollen textiles inhouse in the UK died out… all help with fact-finding appreciated!
In the meantime, and back to the subject of sounds…
This is the sound of the machinery operating at Coldharbour Mill in Devon – a 200 year old spinning mill set in the village of Uffculme. Coldharbour Mill was built by Thomas Fox to spin woollen (and later worsted) yarns in 1799.
An industrial, historic, UK sound of yarn being spun and a domestic, historic, Estonian sound of yarn being spun.
Thanks to Liis and Julika.
Earlier in the month, we heard a recording of combing Rough Fell Fleece.
This is the sound of hand-combing the washed fleece of the Kihnu sheep, which is one strain of the Native Estonian sheep breed.
Estonian Native sheep are from the North European Short-tailed family, and they have a double coat. This means they have short, soft, woollen fibres close to their bodies, and longer, coarser guard hairs on the outside of their fleeces. Because of this double-coated fleece and the shortness of the fibres which come from Estonian Native sheep, there is not really an established tradition of combing wool fibres in Estonia. In the UK, many sheep have long wool which is appropriate for combing. Combing lines all the fibres up in parallel to one another, prior to spinning. Deep-teethed combs are employed to align the fibres in this way. In contrast, carding – which is the established method for fibre preparation in Estonia – results in having fibres which are neat enough to spin with, but which will not lie in straight, parallel lines as combed fibres do.
Here are Liis and Felicity making rolags for handspinning with hand cards. They are also discussing the need to change batteries in the sound-recorder, and the traditions of hand spinning yarns in Estonia.
The water lapping at the edges of the island of Kihnu, Estonia.
The wind in the chimney of the Aga in David and Diane’s kitchen, Cumbria, UK.
Margaret discusses shearing in the UK, and how she learnt to shear sheep as a girl. She also talks about some of the issues re: using the electric shears.
Selma and Riina discuss shearing in Estonia, and how they clip their sheep without using electric shears. They also discuss the processing of the wool from their flock of sheep on Ruhnu.
Here are the sounds of a UK Rough Fell sheep living in the Lake District, contrasted with the sounds of Estonian sheep on the island of Ruhnu.
The Rough Fell sheep live near the Shap pass in Cumbria, and are a mixed group of large rams. They were recorded in the Winter, with their shepherd, Brian Knowles.
The Estonian Ruhnu sheep live on the island of Ruhnu, and are descended from some sheep purchased on the island in the 1950s. They were recorded in the Spring, with their shepherds, Selma and Riina Kaljulaid. “The Naughty One” referred to in the audio is a boisterous ram, whose aggressive behaviour leaves a lot to be desired in the opinion of his minders…
The Ruhnu sheep are considerably smaller than the Rough Fell sheep, which might account for their slightly higher-pitched baas.
During Felicity’s residency at MoKS, Madder roots grown in Berkshire in the UK were used to dye Estonian wool from Kihnu sheep.
After a day or so of hanging around, being red, and soaking all its scarlet/red shades into the Kihnu sheep wool, the dyebath started to fizz.
In Mooste, there are many Nightingale Thrushes which sing in the night. They have a very long song, which can be heard if one is staying up winding skeins, spinning yarn, dyeing yarn, soaking wool etc. This one likes to sing beside a kind of electronic power-box or electricity junction point, as it has stationed itself right beside this buzzing box.
…and here is the Nightingale Thrush recorded from a little further away: