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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..."


Thursday, December 27, 2012

Snow on Christmas Day...a rare happening here in the Ozarks.

 


3 comments:

  1. Beautiful photo. The delicate branches in the forground and the dusting of snow on the rooster looks so light and fluffy. This would look wonderful framed. Enjoy the last week of the year. Hugs

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  2. Mary... thank you again for another visit to my blog... I love your photos on this blog, I will be browsing as I get time... and if you ever want snow, just ask, I'll send you some, LOL! BTW, you are still a "no-reply" blogger so I couldn't email you back. Cheers!

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