Quiet, Please

I want to listen to the rain bouncing off the leaves onto the grass, not your kids shouting "Mama, Mama, Mama" across the yard while you ignore them.

I love to hear to the Schoharie, swollen with run-off, rushing past, slamming into and over the rocks in its bed, not the whizzing, beeping and whirring of the musical Frisbee you toss back and forth in the yard.

I appreciate thunder as it winds through the valley, reverberating off cliffs and echoing across the steep walls of the clove, not the racket of kids screaming "Shut Up!" at their too-numerous-to-count siblings.

I need to absorb the sounds of the GNC night, uninterrupted by the cacophony of your family, friends and hangers-on as you go about your business on cell phones, outside on the porch.

And please, MIDAS-ize the run-down, wrinkled, out of tune Caravan with the imitation Thule box on top.  Every time you pull in or out of the driveway, it sounds like a blitzkrieg.

Enjoy your two-week rental property in the GNC. Thank you.