The call of the Whippoorwill- ‘This woodland was my secret place’

The sweet scent of honeysuckle brings fort memories of a place and time many summers ago. The call of the whippoorwills beckoned me across the old cow pasture to the woods beyond.

Wild honeysuckle vine covered a fence separating the pasture from the rest of the world.

This woodland was my secret place. Wildflowers grew spreading as far as the eyes could see, like a Monet painting.

As I recall those times each new day beckoned me with the many sounds of nature. These sounds always lured me giving promise for a summer adventure as I trudged down a well-worn path to the pasture field behind our house.

The sudden cool morning felt soothing to my face as I scoot under the barbed wire fence.

The dew from the tall field grass wet the knees of my jeans as I strike out across the field toward the pond a beautiful yellow and black Monarch butterfly glided gracefully by commanding my full attention. I watched as it soared out of sight into the sunlight.

A sudden hush fell over the pond as my presence invaded the rhythm of the moment.

Dragonflies skimmed the surface of the water.  I settled down, watching the water ripples from the whirl of the dragonfly’s wings as tadpoles darted around the cattails.

A favorite pastime is watching the cycle of the tadpoles turn into frogs.

As I sit quietly by the pond in the distance I hear life stirring on the lane and the sound of cowbells echoing as the cows graze close by the pond.

The call of the whippoorwills beckoned me to my secret place. I mimic the call of the whippoorwills and pause for its reply before crossing the fence covered with wild honeysuckle. I savor the sweet taste of nectar from the honeysuckle blossom and settle down under a tree near the creek.

Wild-violets, ruffled, trillium, Jack-in-the-pulpit nestled in wild fernm surrounded me, I savor the moment.

The call of the whippoorwill grows closer to my mimic to its call, my reward to my days venture.

With the passing of time it is comforting to return to a place and time of my childhood it remains unchanged in my memory since the call of the whippoorwill.

My thought for today, nature always tends to act in the simplest ways. Everyone should write down at least one childhood memory however dull it seems compared to life today. 

For such stories show history as it is a procession of interlocking families and their place in time.

Mildred Higgins