About Blog Title...

As a child, it was one of my greatest delights to visit my grandparents in the spring when the whip-poor-wills began to call. Grandma and Grandpa lived in a remote valley of the Ozark Mountains where there were trees a plenty, and, seemingly, a whip-poor-will, or two, in each one.
My grandmother insisted that a whip-poor-will's call was not "whip-poor-will," but instead, "chip-butter-white-oak." I would listen really hard trying to hear it exactly as she said it was, but all I could hear was "whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will,..." But, I never let on to her.
I remember my grandpa watching and listening, with an amused look on his face, to one of these listening sessions. Shortly after that he began to call me, just for fun, "Chip Butter." It is a name I am proud to wear for I still love to hear that long, lonesome call on a warm summer's eve. And, sometimes, when I listen really, really hard, it seems I can hear quite clearly, "chip-butter-white-oak, chip-butter-white-oak..."


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Making a Living...

My dad was always a great defender of the little wild critters.  When the raccoons got into the corn fields, or the wild hogs rooted holes in the pastures, he would simply say, "Well, they are just trying to make a living."

When we cross a little stream or walk along its banks, Dan always points out the tracks of little critters that were there the night before, as Dad would say, "trying to make a living."  On this trip, the day following heavy rains, I just happened to have my camera.




Mink tracks


Raccoon tracks


A raccoon's little hand-like foot print



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