by Jerry Wilson
posted April 19, 2008
The Whippoorwill. That strange bird that you rarely see because it seems to come out only at night. That powerful whistle that seems to pronounce its name. But, boy what a memory it stirs.
I grew up in West St. Louis County, Missouri. I recall the early 1950’s when we would plan our vacation around our family’s love of the outdoors and fishing. For several years, we would take one week of the summer and travel to the Lake of the Ozarks. Our favorite location was near Gravois Mills, Missouri, on what was then referred to as the “Gravois Arm” of the Lake.
In addition to small rental cottages, the host resort had a big two-story lodge, which was large enough to accommodate two or three families. Located on a hillside, it provided a great view of the lake as the early morning sun arrived and made its way over the trees on the far side of the water. The fishermen heading out in their small boats with motors humming their unique, almost monotone sounds would let me know it was time to start thinking about getting out of bed and planning my day of swimming and fishing.
I remember that Dad had been told of an easy way to turn the crank of our ice cream freezer. What a hoot! He jacked up the left rear end of our 1950 Nash and tied a string through the wheel and onto the freezer crank handle. Then, with blocks in front of the tires, he started the engine and slowly let out the clutch on the standard transmission. With the engine at an idle speed, the rear tire turned which, in turn, turned the crank of the freezer. After the odometer registered about a mile, and drew a small crowd of grinning onlookers, the string broke, and the ice cream was ready.
My job was to sit on the freezer and hold it in place. It took a few attempts to get started, but, by golly, we eventually, had homemade ice cream. Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if it might have been more work to jack up the car and go through that routine than to just go ahead and crank it by hand. But then, when Dad set his mind to something, he was going to do it.
Most of all, it was the nighttime sounds that remain in my memory. The competition of the crickets, katydids, tree frogs and frogs along the banks of the lake made for great night music. But it was the sound of the whippoorwill that overpowered this late night symphony. It was if it was trying to lead the group, but the others had no intention of following its lead.
My wife and I have retired to Harrison, Tn. As we enjoy the warm spring evenings I get to enjoy the night sounds. Occasionally, two or three geese fly over honking as they head for a neighboring pond. Then, I hear the sound of the Whippoorwill, once again, trying to lead the crickets in their nighttime concert. That bird always seems to overpower the insects, but that’s okay. It takes me back to those memorable nights at the Lake of the Ozarks.
Jerry Wilson
Jerry50sdj@bellsouth.net
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