50+ Lifestyles

Just Saying…

The Five Notes of the Village Symphony

By Q.C. Jones

Every place has its own ambient soundtrack. Nashville has Hank-powered pedal steel guitars. Chicago has the
blaring horn of the “L” train. And the Village of East Davenport, my personal riverfront abode, has a signature symphony, five notes strong, equal parts history, grit, and charm.

True Confessions here: I didn’t come up with this on my own. Credit belongs to my personal health guru, Ms. Emilia. We were stretching, bending, and otherwise contorting me into positions the Good Lord never intended when she said, “QC, you ought to write about the five sounds of the Village.” She was, and mostly is always, right. Every half-worn storyteller needs a guide like Emilia to whisper good ideas while keeping his back and typing fingers from locking up.

It’s a writing tradition. Sherlock Holmes had Dr. Watson—steady, practical, always ready with a notebook. Hunter S. Thompson had his attorney in Fear and Loathing—wild, half-crazed, and equally necessary. Even Batman needed Robin, tights and all. Me? I’ve got Ms. Emilia, a one-woman combination of drill sergeant, philosopher, and Pilates prophet. If you like the beat or this little story, give her the credit.

Here, my good friends, in historical order, are the five notes of fame.

First Sound: Bugles and Salutes from Arsenal Island

Just across the river, the Arsenal reminds us that freedom isn’t free. Bugle calls float over the water. Promptly at 9:30 p.m., we hear “Tattoo” and at 10:00 p.m., “Taps” is played, each marking time as surely as any clock tower. And on solemn days, the seven-gun salutes roll across the Mississippi, sharp and echoing, rattling windows in the Village and stirring something deep inside. It’s a sound that belongs to soldiers past and present, to honor, and to memory. In those moments, the Village stands in quiet witness to history.

Second Sound: The Riverboats Mournful Wail

The Mississippi doesn’t talk loudly, but it always has something to say. On still mornings, you can hear the shuffle of the current, like a giant rolling out of bed. Barges groan and cough their way downstream, and emerging from the sloshing water and diesel rumble comes the riverboat’s horn—long, low, and mournful. It cuts through the mist with a sound equal parts warning and poetry. Together, water, diesel, and horn remind you that this river was America’s first highway. It still moves commerce and secrets alike.

Third Sound: The Train’s Lonely Horn

Long before Teslas hummed down Brady Street, the railroad ran past the Village. To this day, the wail of the Burlington Northern horn cuts through the night air like a blues singer with a broken heart. It’s the kind of sound that makes you wonder where the train’s headed and why you’re not on it.

Fourth Sound: The Highway Whine of River Drive

Not all Village sounds come wrapped in nostalgia. Some are just the daily grind. River Drive carries cars, semis, and the whole restless march of modern America. Their tires sing a high-pitched whine as they climb past the Village, a constant reminder that the world doesn’t stop here, it rushes by in steel and rubber. Some folks tune it out; others find comfort in its steadiness. Either way, it’s part of the Village’s rhythm, a kind of urban heartbeat pulsing at the river’s edge.

Fifth Sound: Summer Cicadas and Winter Silence

Come July, the cicadas take over, buzzing, droning, and reminding us that the season won’t last forever. They’re loud, insistent, and somehow comforting. By contrast, winter in the Village brings a hush. Snow muffles everything but the crunch of boots on the sidewalk and the occasional snowblower grinding its way down a steep driveway. Two opposite sounds, tied together in one circle of seasons.

Five sounds, stitched together like an old quilt.

None of them fancy. All authentic. But if you think they’re just background noise, think again. Neuroscientists tell us that blends of sound, river with train, cicadas against highway whine, or bugles over snow expand the mind in ways we don’t fully understand. Pink noise has been tied to better sleep, binaural beats may spark creativity, and even low-frequency rumbles can stir emotions we didn’t know we had. Put them together, and we’ve got more than ambience.  We’ve got a natural laboratory for memory, mood, and imagination right here in the Quad Cities.

In case you ever doubt the importance of a trusty assistant, just remember: without Watson, Holmes would’ve been another weird English recluse; without Robin, Batman would’ve been another guy in black tights; without his lawyer, Hunter would’ve been incarcerated in Vegas; and without Ms. Emilia, I’d just be a stiff old storyteller who forgot to listen.

Just saying…

QC Jones
Village Dweller