by Derek Jackman
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Bryn Kruse, standing on her second story deck, enjoys a cup of hot tea while the sounds of I-5 roar over the concrete sound barrier in her backyard. |
"The dogs were going crazy when we first moved in," said Lee Kittel, referring to the dogs’ reaction to the noise, "but they seem to have gotten used to it."
The yard’s rusty fence, overgrown with blackberries and grasses, stands adjacent to several small maple trees, leaves yellowing in the autumn sunlight. This fence is the only barrier between the roaring bustle of the freeway and Kittel’s home.
"You can definitely hear the freeway in here," Kittel said, standing in her living room. "Sometimes, when you’re dead asleep at 1 in the morning, truckers will use their engine brakes. It kind of sucks, it sounds like they’re right outside your window."
Similar situations affect households throughout Bellingham and along the I-5 corridor. Residents along the freeway are subjected to every type of road noise. During rush hour, groaning engines, honking horns and slamming brakes are trapped between the white lines of the interstate and next to thousands of homes. Construction crews often work in the late hours of the night and early morning to alleviate effects on traffic flow. For people in Kittel’s situation, this means noisy homes at any time, on any day.
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"It was hot," Kittel said. "We wanted to have our windows open, but it was loud; it was a hassle. I grew up way out in the county, so I’m not really used to hearing noises all the time. But it seems constant enough that I’m able to kind of tune it out."
From a distance, the sound of rubber on concrete is not an unpleasant one for some.
"It’s soothing now," said Andy Kruse, a resident of Mountlake Terrace, Wash. "I don’t really hear it unless I think about it. It’s too quiet — almost eerie when I’m not around the freeway."
Close up, the sounds of screaming engines and compression braking dominate the airwaves, but from a distance or through an insulated wall or window, these intermittent eruptions of mechanical sounds all but disappear.
"Andy’s mom said she thought the traffic sounded like the ocean," said Bryn Kruse, Andy’s wife. "She said it was kind of relaxing."
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The Kruses live on the second story of a duplex. Surrounded by pine and
madrona trees, their house towers over the top of a concrete barrier designed
to keep noise confined to the freeway. From the green patio chairs situated
around a circular glass table outside the master bedroom’s sliding
glass door, the view of the Olympic Mountain Range is nearly as clear
as the view of the interstate. All major lanes of traffic are in plain
site from the Kruses’ deck, and the sound proceeds unobstructed to
the second floor.
According to the Washington State Department of Transportation, noise walls in Washington are occasionally constructed to a height of 20 feet, but are usually built to an average of between 12 feet and 15 feet — not a sufficient height to significantly reduce noise in a second-floor home. The Kruses’ home stands high enough that sound from the freeway is not reduced.
"When you come up the stairs, that’s the point when you cross the sound barrier. I never talk on the phone out here," Andy said while the whoosh and growl of cars and trucks in the background provided the explanation for him.
Down in the yard below, a swing set stands unused on the lower level
of the terraced landscape. Toys are strewn about, haphazardly discarded
by the children living downstairs. Orange pine needles and large brown
cones litter the ground.
The gray concrete of the sound barrier sits stiff and cold at the back
of the yard. A few small alder trees grow against the wall. The rough,
grooved surface of the wall shows mildew and dirt stains from years of
weathering.
"It’s pretty ugly," Andy said. "It’s just a big
cement wall."
Kittel said she thinks the barriers strip the character of surrounding towns and homes.
In addition to the aesthetic problems of concrete noise barriers, high
construction costs prevent them from being used in many cases. According
to WSDOT, it costs an average of $22.10 per square foot to construct a
barrier. This translates into
an approximate cost of $1.75 million for a 15-foot high wall spanning
one mile.
The noise barriers, however, are usually the most practical solution,
according to an April 2000 study by the Federal
Highway Administration and the U.S. Department of Transportation. But
there are other options. The study found that earthberms are the most
effective method of mitigation. Earth berms are large mounds of soil,
rock and other natural materials, usually covered in bark and landscaped
with flowers and plants. Berms, however, require a great deal of space
and materials, more than the concrete walls. Lowering speed limits and
planting dense vegetation can also alleviate some of the highway noise.
But, according to the FHWA study, speed limits would have to drop by nearly
20 mph to produce a noticeable change in decibel levels, and vegetation
would have to be 61 meters thick to achieve a similar reduction.
Another possible step to mitigate noise involves insulating the house
itself.
"We’ve got double-paned windows and pretty good sound insulation," Bryn said. "The only time it gets too loud is in the summer when we’ve opened the windows."
But for those residents without good sound deadening insulation or double-paned windows in place already, upgrading their home can be costly.
On December 28, 2000, the FHWA proposed a bill that would provide federal funding to residents living in homes where traffic noise was a significant problem. The Department of Urban Housing and Development and the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency supported the proposal. FHWA canceled the proposal in March 2002 citing unacceptable labor and cost burdens as the main reasons for its demise.
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From the Illnois Street pedestrian overpass, Kittel's home (second from left) is protected only by blackberry bushes and a few scattered trees from the monotonous noise of cars streaming by on the freeway below. |
"At night we’ll go outside to watch the sunset over the Olympics," Bryn said. "But after a minute of listening to all the noise I say ‘Okay, let’s watch it from inside.’"
The influence of nature, however, is still present in the Kruses’ home. Audible above the passing traffic, several small birds sing from the high branches of a tree over the deck. The majestic Olympics are visible beyond the wall and the gray void of I-5. A small squirrel scampers atop the wall and leaps into the safe confines of another pine in the yard.
"During the recent storms, we went to sit outside and listen to the rain fall," Bryn said, "We could actually hear the rain over the freeway. It was so refreshing."
Back inside, Bryn draws up the blinds and curls up in the corner of the plush, green leather loveseat in the living room. After a moment she gets up and makes her way down the hall into the bedroom.
"It’s white noise for the most part," she said, while giving a final demonstration of how effective the sliding glass door to the balcony is in blocking out the sound, "except when a big truck or police siren goes by. Or when a big Harley guns it down the on-ramp."
Later, in the midst of preparing a cup of tea and cutting a slice of lemon poppy seed bread in the kitchen, Bryn looks out through the small window over the sink. She is just opening her mouth to speak when a deep, grumbling motorcycle interrupts her train of thought.
"See" she said, "That is exactly what I’m talking about."