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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..."


Monday, February 4, 2013

February Reflections from the Pond...








3 comments:

  1. Beautiful! There doesn't seem to be a single ripple on the lake and the reflection is perfect!

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  2. Mary, Is this on your property? Your photos are beautiful!

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  3. Thanks Maddy and Sarah! I walk along the banks of this pond on my daily hike over the hills behind my house. On this particular day, it was a little before sunset and everything was so still, not a leaf was stirring and there wasn't a ripple on the pond. Almost all the pictures I post are taken here on the place.

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