When I lived in Chicago, I would pass a lot of construction sites. Even if you've never lived in a city, you've seen construction sites on TV. They're universally ugly (except for the sculpted bodies of the younger workers in summer ...) Bare ground, sawed wood all over the place, big gawky cranes, like skeletal Big Birds, setting down iron beams from on high. Noise.
When it's your own house under construction, it's different.
When Husband and I arrived, the trusses for the garage were all up, and they had just started putting up the trusses for the main house. The west side truss was in the air, floating lightly from the ground up to position, where David (the youngest of the Jensen brothers, the builders we hired) caught it, guided it into place, and hammered the holding beams in. I swear I heard the orchestra swelling as the criss-cross of wood rose and settled. If there were any other noises, I didn't hear them.
And the bodies of these workers ain't at all bad, either.