One of Connecticut's most mysterious phenomena is the "Moodus Noises," seismic tremors that occure near the place in East Haddam where the Salmon and Moodus Rivers flow together. The Pequot, Mohegan and Narragansett inhabitants of this region considered these noises to originated from the god Hobomoko, who sat below Mount Tom. The Indian word for the noises was "Matchemadoset" or "Matchitmoodus," which means "Place of Bad Noises," and the local tribe had special interpreters for the noises.
Of course, when the Puritans came to the area in the mid-1600s, they attributed the Moodus noises to Satan. Connecticut at the time was also very active in Witch Hunting. There must have been a lot of cultural chaos, and natural phenomena seemed to be interpreted in terms of the settlers' and the Indians' fears. Today, it seems to me that these noises are far more benign--especially for those listeners who wish to hear the rumblings of mother earth.
This afternoon Tonya drove us to Moodus, and we searched for the place where we might hear the spirit voices. We stopped in the town of Moodus at a gas station, and I asked people about the noises until I found a woman who seemed to know something. She said that they were all around the area, but that there was no one place where we could go to hear them. She directed me down the hill, to a boat landing, and we set out in the car to follow her directions. We wound down a long, curvy road towards the water. Finally we found the entry point labeled "Salmon River," and drove into a huge clearing ringed by cottonwoods next to the wide mouth of the Connecticut River where we found a few fishermen. We all agreed that there was something special about the place, and felt a tingle in our bellies. My imagination heard whistling noises, but then again, it's impossible to tell, with the background hum of airplanes and vehicle motors from the highway exactly what is a moodus noise and what is noise pollution. The river view was broad and full and lovely, and the cottonwoods whispered tales from times past, when they were deemed sacred, lodge poles for an invisible tent above us.
As of tonight, Ching-In and I have completed our reading of each others' work. Her reading of my essay was so helpful last night, that I finished another one this morning, and then went back and wrote a new, stronger ending for "A River Tale." I finished critiquing her poetry manuscript this afternoon, and she responded to mine this evening. It is affirming to be read and understood by another. Both of us are writing about women characters/speakers who strive to break through the myths and stories and losses they've allow to define them in order to become creators of themselves, at peace and poised for deeper adventures as an integrated person. It will be a thrill to see each others' books in print.
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