Bristol, Connecticut, was once the clock-making capital of the world. Now it’s home to ESPN and a carousel horse collection. I sit alone, on a plush couch, in the great hall of the American Clock Museum, and wait for the hour to strike. Surrounding me are around forty-five grandfather clocks, positioned like guards. At 2 p.m., the clocks unfurl into a chorus of chime melodies, ending with a defining double-thrum in different keys.
The museum has notable acquisitions: braille clocks and clocks with blinking eyes, a clock that tells you the height of the tides, and a clock spring used to perfume handkerchiefs—feed the machine a penny and hold the cloth below a brass lion’s mouth as it spritzes apple blossom perfume. But the joy is in experiencing many creations of time happening all at once. The wash of seconds, voiced by hundreds of clocks, overpower even the sound of my footsteps as I walk from room to room. I ask the docent if she finds it soothing. “This is the most peaceful place in the world,” she says. The sound resembles heartbeats, or soft applause.
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