Imagine working in the countryside – building a fence, mowing the grass or hanging laundry – and you stop for a moment to wipe the sweat from your brow. Pastureland stretches into the distance. Taller grass grows nearer, coming up around a fence line, and some old farm equipment, all of it baking in the summer sun.
It’s hot, so you pause long enough to take a big breath, and unintentionally, you hear the sounds around you. A locust buzzes through the air. Then you hear a bird whistle, way off, with a two-note call: one small, short note, followed by a longer note that goes up at the end. Or was it three notes? “Poor-bob-white,” it sounded like. You smile. That’s a bobwhite quail, a plump little bird you know is running about the fields, seldom seen, but often heard.