The Gate to the Hundred Acre Woods
When I was young, we lived on a rural farm in Oklahoma. No other kids to play with, nothing else around for miles except lots of land, cows, farming equipment, abandoned oil well equipment, and undiscovered ways to amuse yourself with the isolation you haven't yet realized will start to make you a weird kid.
The ambient sounds. Oil pumps scattered out on the land, working day and night and going up and down to pull the sludge out from the earth. You could see at least three at anytime in any direction and they made a drumming noise in repetition; thut thut, thut thut, thut thut thut. You fell asleep to this noise in the distance, you woke up to the same. Menacing looking machines too, as dangerous as any rail road crossing. Where I went to school, we didn't watch films about the dangers of drugs, we watched films about the dangers of Rail Road Crossings.
