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Buying A House On a clear, crisp morning last March, I sat with a friend on his back porch listening for the sounds of birds and longing for warmer weather. For me, the warbling sound of a red-winged blackbird and the mellow bubbling tones of a robin audibly signal the coming of spring. On this particular morning, their welcomed songs were rendered almost inaudible by unmistakably human noises which sounded very little like singing. An endless procession of cars, trucks, busses, and motorcycles charged forth to do battle with the music of the still uncertain season. My friend had just purchased a gorgeous green house with white trim, surrounded by immaculately kept shrubs and situated on a picturesque, tree-lined street. Impressed by the visual splendor of his environment, he had given little thought to the constant cacophony that would assault his ears for seasons to come. "Excuse me!" I finally said. "I'm getting a little cold, I think I'll go inside." Noise, like car horns, brakes squealing, and engines revving, is as unattractive as a street full of beer cans and pop bottles, which few of us would be willing to tolerate. True, it's easier to clean up a street full of litter than it is to convince the city's motorists to take an alternate route. But my friend didn't have to buy this particular house. He might have found one he liked on a quieter street. It may not have had as many trees, it might even have needed a new coat of paint, but it might have been a great deal quieter. Perhaps the noise level of a particular neighborhood is worth some consideration. I, for one, get very tense when I have to listen for more than a few hours to the noisy, unattractive sounds of traffic. I am conscious of it even now as I sit on the sofa in my friend's house trying to carry on a conversation with his wife. It isn't just the noise that bothers me, it's the way that noise affects our conversation, for we are having to talk rather loudly even though all the doors and windows are closed. At the moment, we're talking about something reasonably trivial, so the tumult outside is no more than a nuisance. But I am trying to imagine how it will sound when my friend says to his wife, at the top of his lungs, "I love you!" or how his children will react when he comforts them by yelling, "Everything's going to be all right!" I'm sure glad my house is on a quieter street. I think I'll go home and sit on my own back porch. By the way, how are the birds in your backyard?