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, March 7, 2016


Waiting for dusk
March is a lean time for these pretty little critters, so Spring can't come soon enough for them.  This little fellow is one of five that comes every evening to pick up tidbits from underneath the cattle troughs.  I also diligently save every scrap from the kitchen and put it out, along with some shelled corn,  for them each evening down by the creek.  They seem to appreciate it, for there's never a morsel left by morning.

The Pond in March
As far as the pond goes, I suppose Thoreau's words sum it up best, even though the winter has been a mild one and there's been no snow.  "They were pleasant spring days, in which the winter of man's discontent was thawing as well as the earth, and the life that had lain torpid began to stretch itself."

Millie, undoubtedly, dreaming of spring.  It will be her first.

Millie has been with us, now, for just over a month, and what a party it has been.  I really don't think we could have designed a dog, if that were possible, that would have been a better fit for us.  The lady at the shelter said that we could bring her back if we weren't pleased with her.  Bring her back, indeed!  What a dreadful thought for such a sweet little dog.  Just the mere mention of "bringing her back" made me think of Anne of Green Gables when Marilla was making plans to send Anne back to the orphanage because she wasn't a boy.  "...You would cry, too, if you were an orphan and had come to a place you thought was going to be home and found that they didn't want you because you weren't a boy.  Oh, this is the most tragical thing that ever happened to me!"

 Yes, Millie has passed all the tests in flying colors, so she will be staying.  As I have said before, with her along, the hills aren't so steep and the trail's not so long.

The last of winter's stitches...