One of the joys of rising at 3:30 am and driving on a gravel bush road for over an hour is the chance of hearing the Whip-poor-will which often sings at the very beginning of the Massey Breeding Bird Survey. Massey is on the north shore of Lake Huron.
The Whip-poor-will seemingly endlessly repeats its name in the evening and early morning. I remember being kept awake by them at boy’s camp though there are many less about these days. My grandmother claimed that they really say “Purple-rib”.
And since all this loveliness can not be Heaven,
I know in my heart it is June. – Abba Goold Woolson (1838-1921)