No cars passing by.  No buses taking workers to and from job sites.  No construction, all building (and hammering) paused.  No university students strolling with their dogs or rushing to catch the shuttle.  No Yachties walking by as they gather provisions. No boat motors running. No music playing. No sounds of people talking and laughing.  No planes taking off. No dogs barking.

These are the everyday sounds that I haven’t heard since March 24^th.  It seems like forever.

On March 25^th, the Grenadian Government instituted a limited State of Emergency. All businesses were required to conduct work remotely or shut down.  A curfew was set from 7 pm to 5 am. Because of exceptions for grocers, gas stations, take away food sources, hardware stores, and banks, there were still too many people were congregating.

Therefore, on March 30th, the Government enacted stricter National Disaster Emergency Measures. The primary provision states that other than deemed essential workers, no one would be allowed off their property at any time. This included no taking walks or visiting with neighbors.  The only exceptions were to obtain emergency medical services or to buy emergency food.  Groceries and gas stations were shut down and would only open 1 day per week with limited hours.

The strangest silence is no dogs barking.  Everyone has dogs in Grenada. They are kept as security, stay outside, and many homes have multiple dogs.  Dogs that take their job seriously.  Whenever anyone (or anything) passes by, they bark.  Nothing is moving, so no barking.  It’s eerie.

I water our gardens for two hours every day – one hour in the morning and the other in the late afternoon.  This is usually the busiest time on the street, and there are a lot of sounds of everyday life.

Not now.

The most surprising silence is not hearing any music, talking or laughing. Because people mostly live ‘outside’, I always hear my neighbors talking or laughing.  I can’t hear the words, but I hear the rhythm, the tones.  Of course, people can’t congregate. No friends can come over which is usually a daily occurrence, but somehow the restrictions have somehow quieted everyone down.  It feels like a ghost town.  Occasionally, I’ll see my neighbor on his porch and wave.  We don’t shout greetings.  It is as if we are afraid to break the silence.

What I do notice is birds singing, the wind blowing through the branches of trees and bushes, and tiny creatures rustling through the vegetation as they escape the encroaching water. The stillness is alive with sounds.  It is just so different from what is ‘normal’.

One day, I heard a car.  My head popped up, and my eyes scanned the street. I wondered who was brave enough to venture out, breaking the rules and risking getting a fine.  It was the St. George’s Security Patrol van cruising the area, making sure everything is safe and secure.

And then it started.  The sound I most recognize.  Dogs barking.  Running to their fence lines, barking jubilantly, ferociously, and joyfully.

Finally, something to do.

Our Irish Setter, Red Dog, runs down our driveway to the street to join the party.

I just stood listening.

The patrol van cruised slowly. I could hear each group of dogs begin barking as the vehicle approached, quiet down after it passed, and then the next set of dogs started their part of the chorus.  This continued all the way down the road.  And then all the dogs laid down at their fence lines.  They know the routine.  This road is ultimately a dead end, and the van would need to turn around and come back.

They were ready.

After their second round of announcing the ongoing progress of the van down the road, the dogs began loping back to their favorite shady spot and settled in.

Red Dog, ran to greet me with the joyous, goofy face that only an Irish Setter has. Ecstatic that he had something to do.  Somewhere to go.

Even if it was just to the end of the driveway.