|a whistler from way back|
Smuggler's Gulch, WA 1973
I come proudly from a family of whistlers. When we were small kids growing up in the valley it was my brother’s inimitable whistle that told me he was near (or at least within a whistle’s range). The puckering whistle has all range of melody, and when I could not or would not speak the whistle allowed me space in a place. Fingers in the mouth whistling was the style that suit my brother and Daddy. Those were bellows and shrieks with precise decibels and just as clear messages: “Get oveh here!” “Eh!” It took practice to get those fingers placed right for a bellow, and I do it when the need arises.
This space today is a place to welcome the whistling genes to pucker and crow like good laying hens do when they are in the throws of triumph...a new egg is laid! Several months ago I was listening to a radio show about Whistling Women and Crowing Hens. I was fascinated by the old British Isles ditty that stirred history to say that both -- whistling women and crowing hens, would come to a bad end. No doubt the Victoria Age deemed the attention whistling woman garnered destined for a bad end; and as likely true for a hen who would stir the silence of a barnyard to herald the coming of a fresh egg. For me, and many many others whistling is a joyful venture into voicing currents that are vibrant, joyful, mournful, fervent and in all a whistle signifies the whistler is fully alive today. In the years that I count as my life, there have been many, many losses. I know the multiple degrees of pain and realize more than not, this is part of being alive. When one more loss weighs heavy on the load, I still wish some one could chip in/pitch in/take over. That seldom happens, my life is still my life -- my kuleana, my responsibility. I have grown from the loss and the pain and come to know myself and my place in the world with greater acceptance. Perhaps growing older, my partnership with Creator/Akua is much stronger and I heal from the darkness into innocence once more.
Today I am whistling again with more vigor and joy in a very long time, and with three crowing hens to lighten my load, one day at a time. Joy comes with whistling and though there is pain something happens when an old gal like me steps out the vardo door and finds Henny Henny, Kou and Aka (the three black crowing hens) kick'n pine needles and venturing into new territory as escaped hens from the corral. An opened gate let them explore this new ground. They'd flown the coop so-to-speak, but not gone far. It must be part of the gifts of encouragement that Akua fashioned for today. What a sight! I've been a whistler from way back and with the space that comes from forgiveness and amends of all sorts, our crowing hens give me hope for better things coming. The Season of Light invites forgiveness and hope. Whistling does that too. Join in, pucker up and whistle.