I have naturally formed the habit of restraining my thoughts. A thoughtless word hardly ever escaped my tongue or pen. Experience has taught me that silence is part of the spiritual discipline of a votary of truth. We find so many people impatient to talk. All this talking can hardly be said to be of any benefit to the world. It is so much waste of time. My shyness has been in reality my shield and buckler. It has allowed me to grow. It has helped me in my discernment of truth.

Could there ever be a sentiment more opposed to the whole concept of the blogosphere?

Cain has a background in law, and her skill at making an argument is apparent very quickly in Quiet. She wants to show that in America, extroversion is assumed to be the norm for healthy functioning, and this bias is reflected in pretty much all of our societal structures. She makes her case through a varied and interesting body of evidence, and I really liked this breadth of scope. The book concludes with suggestions for parents of introverts.

By the end, I grew a little weary of the relentless focus on how introverts have a hard time in America. There were a very few places in which I knew enough about the subject to tell that Cain’s reading of the evidence seemed to over-reach. Her argument is narrowly focused on introversion, but there are always other factors to be considered too. Maybe the root difference comes from my Christian orientation, which doesn’t see temperament or personality as the rock-bottom of being. Christian tradition views even “weakness” as a source of strength because it’s at the point of weakness that we lean on God, whose purposes are always good, and whose generosity and love make untold resources available to us when we trust him. It gives us a different perspective on adversity.

But even where I felt her argument was thin, Cain’s insights are invariably interesting, and this is not a book that can be dismissed. I think it will end up being important for the way it questions assumptions and recasts introverts. It certainly made me think. Toward the end, where the book delves into what happens when extrovert parents have introvert children, I thought of some homeschooling families I know in which the mothers are so worried about providing adequate “socialization” for their children, they seem to be trying to recreate their introvert children in an extrovert mold through lots of scheduled activity and team sports. It’s something I’ve noticed and puzzled over — along with the way home educators begin the enterprise out of a desire for flexibility and customization in their educational approach, then end up herding together into group activities and pre-packaged curricula that simply mimic institutional education. Maybe Cain is right about the strong pull of certain cultural norms, including the extrovert ideal.

Of course I thought about my own history as well. Like perhaps many who would be attracted by this book, I think of myself as an introvert, and like many I’m reassured by the distinction Cain makes between “antisocial” and “differently social.” Of course we all need people; it’s a question of which settings enable us to thrive, and whether we recharge in social or solitary pursuits.

My mother tells me that as a toddler, I was happy to sit on the couch looking at books. This was so different from my very active older brother that my father would wonder what was wrong with me. Cain might say this is a common American response to introversion, and those of us who are quieter and more comfortable with solitary reflective or creative pursuits can probably look back over our lives and see many places where we felt a similar reaction, whether in classrooms where group learning was the norm, or work settings with open floor plans and lots of meetings, or social situations that reward the gregarious, or churches that privilege the highly vocal and demonstrative.

The pressure of these experiences can be subtle but pervasive. As I said earlier in this review, even adversity can serve a purpose. Even though I can see some missed opportunities along the way, having to be myself in opposition to the norm at some points has helped the color to come up in who I am, and I’m sure this is true for others too. But Cain reminds us that there is a value in thinking about how we can encourage the unique gifts of those around us, and provide opportunities for our children, family, friends, and co-workers to thrive whatever their temperament may be. My review barely scratches the surface of Quiet, a rich resource both intellectually and practically to help us create more room for the contributions of introverts, and to improve the conversation across the temperamental spectrum.

I’ve taken a few walks this week. This shaggy little fawn, along with his mother and sibling, greeted us on one of them.

I worked hard to photograph these little birds in the brush, and this is the best I could do. “It looks like a chipping sparrow, but that can’t be, this time of year,” I said.

“It’s a tree sparrow! It has a spot on the breast!” said Older Daughter. Like me, she’s never seen a tree sparrow. But unlike me, who sees a new bird and goes home to look it up in the bird book, she reads the bird book and actually remembers details like that before seeing the bird. It’s amazing to me.

Tree sparrow

We also discovered a beaver lodge at one of the ponds we visit. I don’t think it’s inhabited now, but the beavers had been extremely active at some point. I like this photo of the various chewed-off trees leading down to the lodge at the pond’s edge.

Beaver Lane

We saw some other neat things too — logs decorated with all kinds of interesting moss and lichen patterns, bracket fungus, woodpecker holes, geese, a kingfisher, nests. On the way out, I heard a chorus of strident little birds. The girls went ahead and saw a Cooper’s hawk sitting in a low branch, surrounded by tattling chickadees and titmice. (It must be akin to having all the french fries on your plate rise up and start scolding!) He took one look at us and gave up, flying off to find better prospects.

But what strikes me most today is how often I only hear, or half-see, or wonder. This morning, for instance. I had to be home and ready to head out for a family activity at 9:00, so at 7:00 I went back to where the girls and I saw the coyote the other day.

That’s the bridge we were standing on when the coyote tore past us. I knew I probably wouldn’t see it again, but I wanted to go back when I could be quiet.

I saw no coyotes. But in the bushes on the way there, I heard a heavy deer startle and gallop away before I saw it. I was resoundingly scolded by a red squirrel who couldn’t seem to find enough curses to convey his displeasure from a hiding place somewhere to the left. As I got closer to my destination, a large raptor of some kind launched just above me and flew off, low, into the evergreens a little ways away, quickly enough that all I caught was a glimpse of mottled brown and white. Its tail wasn’t red. An owl? A hawk? In the distance, I glimpsed a dark, blackish, feline-looking animal melting away behind some trees. And over the course of the whole walk, I heard (but failed to see) a pileated woodpecker laughing no less than three times.

It was frustrating. There is still a pleasure in being in the woods; I enjoy the sense of insignificance of being surrounded by all kinds of purposeful activity that has nothing to do with me. But there is always a frustration too. Every walk reveals one new discovery, but far more mysteries and questions and fleeting almost-sights. When I have the right perspective, I see this as a good thing. But today I was just disappointed.

I think, actually, it means I need to take a sabbath rest from the camera, at least a short one. It’s a wonderful instrument that has opened my eyes and started an adventure of sorts for our family. But today I noticed the pressure it generates. Instead of enjoying the world, I was looking for a picture. I think in the end I missed more than a photo-op. I missed the real pleasure I could have had from starting the day the way I did.

This Wendell Berry poem is about the tyranny of words, but it could just as easily describe the tyranny of the camera, or anything else that gets hold of us and makes us miss the marrow:

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

“It is golden,” while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.

The rest of “The Silence” is here.

Think I’ll put the camera in its case for awhile and just… look around.

Oh, the excitement at simply being in the same room with so many legos — and none of them scattered on the floor, lying in wait to cut into my bare feet or clatter ominously up into the vacuum cleaner! I’ve performed many a vacuum-bag dissection to recover them, but there was no danger of that here…

The girls had to work as partners constructing two separate windmill projects. Their dad was able to come from work to join in for some of the fun.

I felt like I was watching speed chess… They worked well together and tried to complete each project as quickly as possible so they could move on to another. After learning some windmill terminology and finishing their windmills, Younger Daughter headed over to the bins and the zip-line for some free play, and Older Daughter put together a third project — a whirlpool.

All too quickly, it was time to go home. But it was great to see the focus, cooperation, and brain power the experience inspired!

It was a gorgeous, cold morning that alternated between clear, snapping blue sky and snow flurries. There was a dusting of snow on the ground as we explored the nature center, the tracks along the path (some of which we could identify, others that we couldn’t), and the upper meadow. Woodpecker trees were everywhere, and we saw what may have been a few porcupine trees along the gorge.

I worked hard to photograph some house finches feeding among the branches, but the light wasn’t very good. When I turned around, Younger Daughter stood facing into the snow with her mouth wide open. I was reminded that it’s sometimes absolutely essential to taste a snowflake or two.

The meadow was windswept, and we saw a few hollows where the deer had slept. There were birds’ nests of all kinds in the brush, filled with snow rather than with “fubsy birdlings” (as Anna Botsford Comstock calls them). The prettiest one was a deep, grassy cup dangling at the end of a slender branch. There will be a time for learning to keep the different species’ nests straight, but these winter walks are just prime opportunities to locate the activity centers in the woods. We’ll know where to go in the spring if we pay attention now.

When we turned into a trail along the stream, we startled two does. But an even more startling surprise awaited us.

2nd grader's page

Fifth grader's page

Mom's page

I’ve wondered at times what it would be like to meet an unsavory character in the woods, but this coyote clearly perceived us as the unsavory characters. His train of thought was obvious: “AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”

I’m amazed by the simple truth that the more you look, the more you see. Even though we’re not the quietest band of woodland walkers, remarkable beauty and variety reveal themselves to us at every turn. This walk was no exception. It was a wonderful way to start the week.