I was jogging one day, hearing only my rhythmic breathing, when the sound of a hand-pushed lawn mower caught my attention. “That’s a beautiful sound!” I called to the man pushing it. Inspired by a sudden thought, I blurted, “It’s an acoustic lawn mower!” He considered, caught on, and laughed.
”Acoustic” is the term our rock/jazz musician son uses for non-electronic musical instruments. When he applies it to our dignified traditional piano, it seems belittling. But now the word seemed a badge of integrity, a term with panache for vanishing sounds and keen senses. My new perspective was reinforced when I picked up another appealing sound coming from our front porch, that of an acoustic churn. My daughter was hand-cranking a freezer of peach ice cream. Half the anticipatory enjoyment of our homemade ice cream is roused by the sound of churning ice against metal and wood that no electric churn can provide.
Consider some of the other work pleasures we have lost to technology:
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