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, August 21, 2012
Our woodland neighbors are having a hard time of it this year because of the drought. These little masked-faced bundles of fur, hopefully, had to spend only one day away from Mama because of these hard times. Circumstances beyond these little fellows' control in which Mama's quest for food prevailed over her good judgement, led to their temporary relocation. As my dad always said, "They are just trying to make a living."
It was my desire to hide somewhere near as darkness settled over the woods to watch the saga unfold. (Mama comes looking for babies...Babies come down tree...Happy ending!) Instead, I just checked back on the little darlings at dusk and saw that they were still clinging to their trusty branches. By morning, they were gone. The ending will never be known, but just in case they come back, food will be waiting.
Later in the day, when I went to check, they had moved closer together and were sound asleep.