I live in the countryside, surrounded by farms. I’m used to seeing the green/brown fields and the farm machinery out in them, or on the roads, travelling between venues. There is mud and dust. Fragrant/smelly at times. Noise. Never absolutely silent. Especially true with the silage being brought in at the moment. Quiet is relative. I like the rhythm of it all.
This week, at the cider farm, I peeped inside one of their processing barns (the big doors were open) and saw this arrangement of huge, shiny, uniform vats. Impressive. Clean, spotless and, at least for that moment, silent. Such a contrast. Like sneaking a peep behind the scenes.