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..."


Friday, October 19, 2012

An Ill Wind...



The tally of trees killed by this summer's drought continues to grow.  The oaks along the higher ridges seem to have been hit the hardest.  Many of these trees are still holding fast to their leaves, though now withered and brown.  Mother Nature, the greatest of Master Gardeners, has done her work of thinning the forests this year.  She can't be second guessed, but we will surely miss these magnificent oaks.  There will be an abundance of fuel for the wood stove for years to come.  "There never was an ill wind that didn't blow some good," my mother used to say.
 


 
 
 
 

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