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..."
Monday, September 2, 2013
Let Those Engines Roar...
Word got around town that the cousins were using aviation fuel in their cars to make them run faster. The cousins, Mother's nephews, five of them, liked fast cars and were infamously known to have the fastest anywhere around, as was often proven by some small town, Saturday night drag racing. (The cousins were all a little older than me, so this has been a few years ago.) As far as I know, the fuel theory was never proven, so I suppose the rest of us will never know.
Just as my mother was, these nephews of hers were likable and lovable, and had hearts as big as all outdoors. But they, including my mother, had that competitive nature known to the Scots Irish. Mother had no interest in fast cars, but could out sew anyone far and near. Six days a week (she didn't sew on Sundays), one could find her racing her sewing machine across just about anything that could be made with needle, thread, and cloth. I have often said that if it had been possible, Mother would have used aviation fuel in her sewing machine.
Now, I have never been much of a speedster, in driving or in anything else, but I do have a liking for the sound of powerful engines - cars, trucks, tractors, and, yes, even of a good sewing machine. Summer days find me spending more time behind the wheel of my tractor than behind the presser foot of my sewing machine, but I really don't mind for there is always all that horsepower under my tractor's hood to give me pleasure.
When our grandson was only four, he commented about a passing car with a turbocharged-sounding engine and a full exhaust system with straight pipes, "That's faster than ours!" Oh my, we know where that came from...just blame it on Mother!
We are truly shifting gears around here, putting on a burst of speed to get the last of this year's hay in the dry. While it is a time I look forward to, I must confess that I actually enjoy the days in the hay fields when the baler man and I pack the day's eats and drinks into our bags and climb into our tractors. Let those engines roar...