Good Old Bob White

This morning as I sat staring into my computer monitor as if mesmerized by the glow (I was short a couple of cups of coffee and not quite fully functioning yet) I heard the most thrilling sound. It was a Bobwhite quail! For me, there is no other sound that means summer more. It has been years, at least four perhaps five or six, since I last heard a bobwhite. We used to have quite a covey of them in the field next to our house but then suddenly, one year they were gone.

Bobwhite's and whippoorwill's. Their calls were as constant and common as sunshine during the long summer days of my youth.

I can remember playing in the fields and the nearby woods, and being all hot and sticky and dirty and full of energy. Turning my face up to the sun and breathing deeply the air that was filled with sun and wholesome things, like fresh mown hay and apples from the orchard. And in the background, the sound of the elusive, comforting call of the bobwhite. When I take the time to think about it, I can still recall how strong and healthy and eager my young body was at play. It thrummed with youth and hope. And even then, there were moments when I would pause long enough to acknowledge how blessed I was, how fortunate to be able to experience life as an unbridled country kid set free for the summer.

Later, after days that seemed months long, would come the cool evening of summer. The heat of the day would settle warmly in my bones and the coolness of night became a cloying blanket of dampness as the weight of the day settled round our porch. The air was heavy with the perfume of green and growing things, sweet and pungent and pulsing with energy. Not long after darkness fell we would hear the frantic cry of the whippoorwill. It would be there in the same tree all summer long and would be our lullaby every night.

I had intended to write a review of Bad Luck and Trouble by Lee Child today, but time is short at the moment and it will have to wait for another day. For now, I think I'll just sit here with evening coming on and darkness fast approaching, and listen. Maybe I will hear a whippoorwill tonight.

There is always hope.

Betty