hearth & soul

Silence Is Golden
Dear Suzy,

I really want to soundproof our bedroom. Recently, we spent the night at a
bed and breakfast and slept the soundest that we can remember — no airport
nearby, no highway nearby, such a small town there were no sirens, no fire
trucks, no EMS emergencies. It made me stop and think….

Our house is pier and beam, circa 1938, so we can actually get to all
walls, ceilings & floors. I’m not adverse to serious modification to
achieve this end. Are there experts in this town? Are there applicable books?

We don’t want to settle for earplugs or earmuffs. We might even build a
canopy over our bed, complete with entry doors on his and her side, with a
super-quiet air filtration system so we could spend at least eight hours a day
away from not only noise, but also air pollution, molds, and pollen.

Can you help?

Faithful reader,

George

Dear George,

I was swallowed by irony when I read your letter the day after I’d driven 14
hours straight home from Taos, fleeing a bed and breakfast that was so noisy
Richard and I forfeited a couple hundred bucks just so we wouldn’t have to stay
there one more tumultuous night. We had the misfortune of sharing one of our
paper-thin walls with a family of five whose three little girls ranged in age
from one to four years. These girls could project their voices better than
Ethel Merman, a troupe of howler monkeys, and George C. Scott combined.

But I shouldn’t be too critical. I’m almost always disappointed with
accommodations. I want a place with funky style, that welcomes my dogs, a place
with an outdoor private hot tub and quiet nights. I’ve finally realized that’s
where I live. So I’m staying home forever.

Our bedroom is a separate pod from the rest of the house. We don’t have a TV
or a telephone in our sanctuary. The walls are insulated with cellulose, a
great sound barrier, and the windows are double-pane. Sometimes we turn on the
central air-and-heat fan for soothing white noise on those nights when the
raccoons and the ringtail cats are kicking up a ruckus. We don’t simply sleep;
we fall into eight-hour comas.

I talked with Charles Boner, owner and namesake of Boner Associates, Inc., an
acoustical consulting company which has been in business more than 30 years and
tackles projects like the Performing Arts Center. He says personal residences
are a tough area of acoustics because soundproofing (or even sound-diminishing)
usually requires extensive remodeling and big bucks, in the tens-of-thousands
of dollars range. You can hire an acoustical consultant for around $100 an
hour, but Boner offered the following suggestion for free: Get one of those
stone fountains with a recirculating pump and put a microphone near it and run
the sound to a speaker in your bedroom. I think it’s a time-honored solution:
For centuries, the Japanese have relied on the sound of trickling water in
fountains to mask the noise of their close-packed society.

Personally, I love the sleeping-sound-booth idea. Instead of building your
own, maybe you can borrow the one they use to isolate contestants in the Miss
America pageant for the 364 nights it’s not occupied by nervous, tittering
beauties.

If the expense and difficulty of sound-proofing your bedroom seems
overwhelming, why not consider a night in a particular bed and breakfast in
Taos? When you get home, your sleeping quarters will seem silent and serene by
comparison.

This article appears in January 17 • 1997 and January 17 • 1997 (Cover).