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..."


Sunday, February 17, 2013

That Long, Lonesome Howl...






Along about dusk many evenings, we often hear the long, lonesome call of the coyote.  We have become so accustomed to it that we hardly think anything of it.  However, the coyote in the picture doesn't actually howl for he is only a bit of yard art that I happen to like; another way to bring a bit of the American West into our front yard. 


2 comments:

  1. Oh my gosh! I thought you were close enough to photograph a real coyote!

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