Meadowlarks

The warble of the Meadowlark follows me, makes me homesick, is stuck like a faultline in an old record, and I am cheered every time I hear it. Today Dick Kettlewell, the Rapid City Journal photo-journalist writes of "Motzart and Meadowlarks."

He writes, "The serene, gentle strains of Mozart's "Concerto for Clarinet and Orchestra" float from the sound system of my truck as I slowly guide it down the crude old ranch road that winds, dips and rises across a high mesa top in this southernmost reach of the Hills." In his article he goes on to say that "My ears detect the familiar warbling of a nearby meadowlark, heralding the start of the day from atop a small boulder. In an effort to tease this little songster, I turn up the music a bit, as though giving her some accompaniment. She cocks her head, glances about and then raises her own pitch as she sings again and again, apparently accepting my invitation. This land is one for both Mozart and meadowlarks."

In my youth, living on the west edge of the small isolated prairie town of Buffalo, SD, I would be stirred from sleep by the sound of Meadowlarks through my open window. My father's morning ritual would be to stand in the yard imitating their call with his own wonderful ability to whistle. I never knew which was which. They would accept one another's invitation and continue the echo until one or the other was beconed to the day's tasks. Life with Meadowlarks, or even the memory of their song, is rich.