God is a Whip-poor-will

Ever get that odd feeling something is calling you. I know its probably my subconscious mind reminding me that I did not visit my Grandpa often enough before he died and that my uncle Vern is not getting any younger, but the oddest combination of things came together today.

I was driving home and I thought I heard a Whip-poor-will, it turned out to be a sound coming from the music in the next car. My mind wandered again as it does on the dull urban shuffle home, and I thought I hadn't heard a whip-poor-will in years and would have to look and see if their range had changed as urban sprawl had taken over their nesting grounds (dried leaves on edges of fields).

At lunch I did some websurfing and ran across another Blog run by an Arends family, that was totally unrelated to me, but it got me thinking about Uncle Vern and Tanta Inga who I used to visit when I stayed at my grandparents in Fort Erie.

So when I got home tonight I began by googling whip-poor-wills and found that the range had, as I thought, moved to northern Ontario and not one bird had been seen in Southern Ontario in years. I miss the evening cry of the whip-poor-will it reminded me of my childhood. Then as I looked to see if there were any sightings at all in Southern Ontario I discovered one birders report, that mentioned hearing a whip-poor-will off Gilmore road in Fort Erie, the same road my Grandparents had lived on for years. I couldn't help but think that the bird must have been on the edge of the country club golf course that my grandmother worked at for years.

So was it a coincidence, my conscience telling me to visit Uncle Vern or the still quiet voice I so often ignore. Well God I'm listening I think I will go visit Vern and Inga sometime this spring.