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Thread: THE WHIPPOORWILL.

  1. #1
    MCPON simpleman's Avatar
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    THE WHIPPOORWILL.

    WHAT farm boy has not heard this birdless voice echoing from the ghostly shades of the thicket close at hand, or scarcely audible in the distance? Perhaps you have heard it as you have passed between the wood and the hill over there, coming clear from the wood but reechoing from the hill only the shrill last syllable. Farther away on the distant hilltop you may have taken this last syllable for the piping of the salamander. The “whippoorwill” song belongs with the early May moonlit balmy nights, before the blossoms have lost their best perfume and before farm work has become a mere drudgery.

    It vividly recalls the merry May-basketing frolics, apparently so necessary to existence on the farm; the fresh green fields and woodland blossoms; the planting season with all its hidden promises. There is, in the warble of the bluebird, glad promise of returning spring; and in the animated whistle of the phoebe reiteration of the earlier promise; but the whippoorwill tells of that delightful season realized. His is not a complaint groaned forth, but a glad announcement of joy fully come.

    My early home nestled in one of those gems of woodland that dot the rolling Iowa prairies. One of my earliest memories of this old home is the twilight choruses of the whippoorwills in the door-yard. They often ventured upon the door-step and sang for minutes at a time, apparently oblivious of the members of the family seated just inside the open door. On more than one occasion more than one bird occupied the door-step at the same time, all the while apparently trying to drown each others’ voices in a continuous flow of song.
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    At such times the delightful mellowness which one hears, with the birds in the distance, gives place to an almost painful, penetrating shrillness. The more deliberately uttered song is invariably preceded by a strongly guttural sound not unlike that produced by striking an inflated rubber bag. The near-by song, to my ear, sounds like “qui ko wee,” the first syllable with a strong “q” sound. I have never heard them sing later than 11 o’clock in the evening nor earlier than 3 in the morning.

    It is well-nigh impossible to creep upon a singing bird in the woods, even if it could be seen in the dim light, but it was not unusual, at my old home, for the birds to playfully fly round and round anyone who might be standing out in the yard at twilight. The birds often came so close that the wings seemed to brush the face. The flight is so utterly noiseless that the object of their sport is aware of the presence before he can fully realize what it is.

    The whippoorwill inhabits the eastern portion of the United States, west to eastern North and South Dakota and Nebraska, western Kansas, Indian Territory and Texas; north to southern Canada, into Nova Scotia and Manitoba; and south in winter into eastern Mexico and Guatemala. It breeds in the northern and central parts of its range, and rarely to Florida.

    The nest is made late in May or early in June, in the Northern states. The eggs are two in number, light gray or white, with brown and lilac markings often arranged in scratchings and pencilings besides the spots and blotches. There is usually scarcely more of a nest than the leaves lying on the ground; rarely nothing but the bare ground.

  2. #2
    AgentOrange
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    Hank Williams made them famous.

    Is this a joke?

    No matter.
    In spring when the windows are still up - you go crazy around these parts.
    All night long, night after night - the sad song plays.

  3. #3
    MCPON simpleman's Avatar
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    I didn't write it; and it's not a joke either..............................It wasn't Hank Williams it was that other guy.
    Either way, I miss them out here. I used to love lying in bed or camping out sitting around the campfire listening to these Unseen eerie lurkers of the night.

  4. #4
    AgentOrange
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    Quote Originally Posted by simpleman View Post
    ...It wasn't Hank Williams it was that other guy.
    You know I like you, but when a yank takes credit away from a good ole boy from the South - I have to cry out.



    Hank wrote it and sang it.
    He completely captures the sound of the bird.


    Hear that lonesome whippoorwill,
    He sounds too blue to fly.
    The midnight train is whining low,
    I'm so lonesome I could cry.
    I've never seen a night so long
    When time goes crawling by.
    The moon just went behind a cloud
    To hide its face and cry.

    Did you ever see a robin weep,
    When leaves began to die?
    That means he's lost the will to live,
    I'm so lonesome I could cry.

    The silence of a falling star
    Lights up a purple sky.
    And as I wonder where you are
    I'm so lonesome I could cry.

    That is art at the highest level.

  5. #5
    MCPON simpleman's Avatar
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  10. #10
    MCPON simpleman's Avatar
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    Randy Travis

    This is the other guy I was talking about. Good tune.

  11. #11
    AgentOrange
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    Really?

    Really?

    You consider these better than HANK?

  12. #12
    MCPON simpleman's Avatar
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    I'm so lonesome I could die.

  13. #13
    AgentOrange
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    Go vote in the poll before you die.

  14. #14
    MCPON simpleman's Avatar
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    I tried.:kiwi-fruit:

  15. #15
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    I was trying to catch bats with a fly rod (it works) & ended up snagging a whippoorwill when I was a kid. Released him with no apparent injury. They were all over the place in TN when I was growing up.

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