I gather from this that he visited his family regularly at night. One might almost call it a nest although no extraneous nesting material whatever had been added. The female was very consistent in her behavior, usually leaving the eggs when I was feet away and flying to a dead branch 2 feet from the ground where she uttered a few protesting chucks, which resembled a call of the catbird and to a lesser extent the chuck of the hermit thrush.
He sometimes called whip-will when excited by the distress calls of the young. Even at that short distance she would not attempt to walk onto the eggs, but would fly up again, hover, and then alight directly on the nest. To be sure, it occasionally flies short distances when approaching the nest, but the final approach is by walking, or perhaps I should say creeping in a Charlie Chaplin-like shuffle. The different methods of approach to the nest are, I think, indicative of the different habitats of two very similar birds.
The woodland whippoorwill hops or flies to avoid obstructions, whereas the nighthawk can gain its objective without leaving the ground. The incubation period for the last egg laid was, therefore, at least 19 days, and possibly nearer On the 19th and 20th she was respectively 70 and 85 feet from the nest. The female often alighted crosswise on a limb when excited, or for the purpose of facing me, but quickly assumed the lengthwise position. Younger bird still jumped, then squatted, but when I placed it on a branch, it flew 15 feet.
Both young always alighted on the ground, but perched readily. This was the last I saw of the family. Terrill's report of this family of whippoorwills makes it clear that the male parent rarely came near the nest at the times he was watching it. For example, H. Tuttle says: "The male Whip-poor-will I saw only once, and that was after the young were fully grown.
He was very conspicuous in the dusk as he sat on a log, uttering rasping sounds in his throat and opening and shutting his tail, brilliantly marked with white at the edges. It was only a day or so after seeing the male bird that I lost sight of the young birds altogether. There is nothing to do there at night except to keep the eggs warm, or, after they hatch, to brood the young, and his mate can do that while she sleeps on the nest.
So he sleeps a little way off. But when the dark comes--when his morning breaks--when the night insects begin to fly, and food abounds, and his hungry children cry, where is the male parent then? We do not know, but we may assume, as Mr. Terrill suggests, that he joins his family and aids in feeding the young. When a female bird is approached while she is incubating Bendire says: "I believe the female attends to this duty almost exclusively" the behavior varies a good deal in different individuals.
In many accounts of her actions, she is reported to flop about on the ground, seemingly trying to lead the intruder away. Wilson reports that "in traversing the woods one day in the early part of June, along the brow of a rocky declivity, a whippoorwill rose from my feet, and fluttered along, sometimes prostrating herself, and beating the ground with her wings, as if just expiring. Tuttle speaks of a bird, brooding young, which was "very fearless, allowing me to touch her back and making it necessary for me to shove her gently off the young when I wanted a glimpse of them.
Bent, in his notes, says that late in May he "flushed a whippoorwill from near a woodland path, where it apparently had been roosting regularly as evidenced by its droppings. Clarke, writing to Mr. Bent from Ontario, Canada, points out how changes in the topography of a region may affect the local whippoorwills. He says: "The common denominator explaining the local distribution of this species is, I believe, to be found in its feeding and egg-laying habits. The whippoorwill feeds in the open, like the nighthawk, but unlike it, fairly near the ground. Although both birds lay their eggs on the ground, the nighthawk nests in the open, whereas the whippoorwill always nests among trees.
Hence, as a breeding bird, it is found in glades and around the edges of woodlots. Many of the woodlots, however, in this vicinity are closely grazed by cattle at the present time, a condition that prevailed less commonly in the semi pioneering stage of our county. The whippoorwill does not tolerate this change; it will not breed in the grazed woodlots, and, as a consequence, has been reduced in numbers here. It also seems to avoid extensive areas of conifers, possibly because of the absence of hardwood litter on which to lay its eggs.
The area at Frank's Bay, in which the bird breeds very commonly, is a sand plain that was burned over about 25 years ago and has since grown up in many places to dense stands of poplar from 15 to 20 feet high. Here the whippoorwill has plenty of shelter in the dense poplar woods, an abundance of hardwood litter, and may cruise about over the treetops not far above ground. The ground color is usually pure white, but occasionally a faint creamy tint is perceptible. The markings consist of spots or small blotches of "pale Quaker drab" or "pallid Quaker drab," scattered over the eggs more or less irregularly; an occasional egg has large, irregular blotches of this color.
Overlying these pale gray markings, or scattered among them, are often many small spots or fine dots of various browns, such as "cinnamon-brown," "tawny," or "tawny-olive. The measurements of 50 eggs average The dead leaves look like the chick, and the chick looks like the dead leaves; no one can tell them apart; practically the chick is a dead leaf, and, although hatched, it is still invisible, just as it was when hidden in the egg. Some birds depend on speed for safety, or on agility or strength, but the whippoorwill relies chiefly on not being seen. Safety comes to the whippoorwill in dim light, half shadows, and the faint, confusing obscurity of dusk, and among these, on the borderland of invisibility, the whippoorwill lives all its days.
Nests of the whippoorwill are found almost always by accident. The old bird starts up from near the observer's feet, a search--sometimes a long one--reveals the eggs or the young birds. For example, A. Dawes DuBois says: The first nest was found on May 16, , in a strip of woods of medium size trees, thickly undergrown, on a high bank of the Sangamon River [Illinois]. The ground was well carpeted with dried oak leaves.
Our first intimation of Whippoorwills in this place was the sudden appearance of an adult bird fluttering along the ground in front of us, apparently with a broken wing. We stopped at once and while my companion stood to mark the place, I followed the bird a short distance. She fluttered along noiselessly, feigning serious injury and leading me away from the nest as rapidly as I could be induced to follow.
A search revealed the nest within a pace of the spot we had marked. It contained one egg and the broken shell of another which gave evidence of having hatched. Although I stooped to examine the broken shell I did not see the bird that had hatched from it until my companion called my attention to it. The little fellow was crouched, motionless, upon the brown leaves not six inches from the broken egg-shell. Tuttle speaks thus of the young birds: "The newly hatched birds were very attractive-looking little chicks so long as they kept their mouths shut.
They were a uniform buff color, which matched well with the leaves, and the instant their mother left them they ran in opposite directions and squatted. In this maneuver the old bird seemed to aid them materially by the vigorous flip which she gave them as she rose, often tumbling them over on their backs. Suthard writes to Mr. Bent from Musekgon, Mich. I shortly discovered two downy young with their eyes only partly opened. They made no effort to escape and were silent when handled.
The parent flew around several times, uttering a whup-whup-whur note, and then perched on a dead limb of a nearby tree. One of the eggshells was about 6 feet below the nest on the hillside, and the feces of the young had not been moved by the parents. As this nest was only about 30 yards from the main highway, I returned several times between this date and June 24 to see if, owing to my disturbance of the young, the parents would move them.
Each time I visited the nest the parent was brooding the young in practically the same spot. Terrill, in his study of nest life, quoted under "Nesting," says that on June 12, before the young birds were two days old, "whenever the female was flushed, the nestlings hopped or jumped several inches with the suddenness and unexpected agility of 'jumping beans,' then squatted in hiding posture in the manner of woodcock chicks.
The entire movement was so rapid that it almost escaped notice. On the latter date I heard one of the nestlings give a weak, complaining whip , which was answered by the mother 20 feet away. It attempted to follow her, progressing by little hops, but was in difficulty when it encountered heavy undergrowth where it was unable to hop. The smaller of the nestlings remained in the nest. The older bird now frequently used the whip note, which appears to be the chief motif in the whippoorwill vocabulary.
The younger bird still called in wheezy tones that I readily imitated by sucking my finger--so well that the mother bird frequently responded by flying to me and fluttering at my feet. The young at this date, nearly 16 days old, closely resembled their parents. The juvenal plumage begins to grow at an early age.
Ridgway says that the young male is "similar to the adult male in 'pattern' and coloration of lateral rectrices, as well as of primaries and primary coverts, but rest of plumage quite different, the wing-coverts and scapulars deep brownish buff or clay color, the former with coarse and irregular small spots of black, the latter with very large irregular spots of black, and under parts barred with dusky on a brownish buffy ground and, like most of the upper parts, without fine vermiculations, the pilieum spotted instead of streaked with black, and the band across lower throat indistinct, more or less broken by dusky barring, and buffy instead of white.
During July and August the juvenal contour plumage is shed, the juvenal wings and tail being retained, and a first winter plumage is acquired, in which the contour plumage closely resembles that of the adult. This is worn until the following summer, when a complete molt produces the fully adult plumage. Both young and old birds have a complete annual molt between July and September. He says: "Their food appears to be large moths, grasshoppers, pismires, and such insects as frequent the bark of old rotten and decaying timber.
They are also expert in darting after winged insects. He says: "While I slept unsheltered nightly for a week in the Concord woods, rolled in my blanket, with only a head-net hung to a branch overhead to protect me from mosquitoes, I noticed each morning upon awaking just before daylight that something fluttered softly about my head. The sound was like that produced by a large night-moth, but soon I heard something strike the ground a few feet away, and then a well-known cluck convinced me that my visitor was a Whip-poor-will.
The bird came nightly while I remained in the woods, and each morning before daylight it flew around my head-net until it had caught all the mosquitoes there. Allen says: "One evening I saw one take off from the branch of an oak for what was probably its first feeding flight of the night. It opened its mouth wide before launching into the air. Whippoorwills move about over a considerable territory when they come into the open for their daily session of singing and feeding, they follow a route, evening after evening, that varies little, and on the circuit are stations--a stone wall, a low branch, or a certain spot on the ground--where they are almost sure to stop and sing for a while.
If we seat ourselves near one of these stations where the light, which will be almost gone when the bird arrives, will favor our view, and where a dark background will obscure us from the bird, we shall be able to see the whippoorwill at short range, for if we sit motionless no easy task, for mosquitoes will torture us the bird will pay little attention to us.
We must sit quiet and wait, following the song as it swings around the circuit, and we must watch the spot where the bird is about to alight, for, although in flight it looms big even in the dusk, when it comes to rest, with a flip of wings it becomes a bit of dead wood, a clod of earth, or vanishes altogether. On several evenings late in May , at Wilton, N. When I arrived, between sunset and dark, wood thrushes and veeries were singing, but before they quieted down for the night, the whippoorwills from one bird to two or three began to sing, always from the dry wood.
They sang intermittently, and generally after each series of whip-poor-wills their voices came from a different part of the wood. By the time the light was becoming uncertain when one would have difficulty reading print one bird, leaving the wood, worked up the slope, passing the field either by way of the alder run or by a wood of larger growth and an apple orchard that bordered the higher sides of the field.
On each of the first evenings when I visited the ground, one bird paused in the corner of the field where it joined the alder run, and sang a few times, and on two of these evenings I was able to approach the bird but not near enough to see it. The next evening, therefore, as soon as the bird that was singing in the wood began to change his position, I retired to this corner of the field to await him and sat down on a bank where my figure would not show against the sky.
That evening was unusually dark and cloudy. The bird left the wood by the lower side, and at I heard the song coming nearer and nearer through the alders behind me. Then, two minutes later, it came with startling suddenness from almost at my side. The bird sat on the bare ground at the foot of the bank not 6 yards from where I sat. In bringing my glass to bear upon him, I disturbed him, I think, for he flew silently away. He alighted, however, on a rock and began to sing.
He was now 12 yards from me and on a level with my eyes. His side was toward me, and he faced nearly in the direction from which he had just flown. He sat flat on the stone with his head thrown slightly backward and upward and, on alighting, immediately began to sing. The song at close range sounded like cuck-rhip-oor-ree , the final note accented and held longer than the other three, although the rhip was louder and longer than the oor. The song was remarkably regular; twice, however, the bird increased the tempo, and once he doubled one note--either the rhip or the oor.
After a pause the cuck was invariably the first note given when he continued his song. Even in the dim light the band of white across the throat was clearly visible, and twice during each repetition of the cuck-rhip-oor-ree this band was drawn backward--slightly at the cuck , markedly during the final ree , when, I think, the beak was open wide.
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Later, when the bird more nearly faced me, these movements of the white band were less noticeable. The bird sat on the rock for three or four minutes, singing almost continuously. He sat absolutely still for the most part, but twice he moved backward about an inch, as if each time he took a single backward step. His departure, with no apparent cause, was noiseless and abrupt, breaking the song at oor.
Seymour Hersey , who watched with great care the whippoorwill making its nightly round, says: "The time taken to make this circuit varied from 25 to 30 minutes. I watched this bird from several places of concealment and ascertained to my satisfaction that it was the same individual that visited each of these places and that the order given above was not varied. The spot from which he sang was, in all cases, nearly the same, i. Bolles, who was hidden near a stone to which the whippoorwill came nightly, says: Suddenly I hear a rather feeble whip, 12 times S.
It squeaks or clicks three times, and I fear it suspects me and is giving a slight alarm note, but the next moment it begins the piercing 'quip o'rip' slightly raising its head and dipping its tail each time it makes the sound. The head rises on the 'quip' and falls on the 'rip.
I could see the bird's outline perfectly against the white background of the shingled barn on which the moonlight fell fully. When the whippoorwill comes out in the dusk for its evening round, alighting on a stone wall, on the ground, or on a big horizontal branch high in a tall tree, we may sometimes catch sight of it against the sky, as it flies from one station to another. In the air the whippoorwill does not resemble the nighthawk at all. Its wings are broad and, compared to those of the nighthawk, short, and it moves them with an easy sweep, with none of the nighthawk's jerkiness.
When we see it flying steadily across an open field, it suggests an owl moving through the gloom on its broad, silent wings. Taverner and Swales give a remarkable description of the flight of a whippoorwill seen under such circumstances at Point Pelee, Ontario. They say: One evening, just as the dusk was darkening into night, a Whip-poor-will was heard near the camp. We stole out, and the bird was located on a large bare walnut tree in the open bush where, looking up against the still faintly illuminated sky, it could be plainly made out, sitting lengthwise, as is their fashion, on a rather large and almost horizontal branch.
It remained perfectly motionless except for an occasional jerk of its white blotched tail, when it gave vent intermittently to a guttural "gluck.
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Then it appeared on the other side, swinging down on fixed wings in great elliptical curves as though whirled from the end of a cord, perfectly silent in flight and threading the dusky mazes of the tree tops with the utmost confidence and precision. Here and there it rapidly wheeled, without an apparent stroke of the wing, now coming into view in the lower arc of its great circling, and then vanishing silently again on the upward sweep on the other side.
As suddenly as it started, it ceased in the middle of a swing and, while the eyes vainly searched for the dark object along the continuation of its course, it was seated again on the branch from which it first sprang, silent and still. This was repeated several times, and then it was joined by another, and the two circled about like great soft, gliding bats until the sky above grew so dark that their movements could no longer be watched.
Several writers mention the fearlessness of the whippoorwill, or perhaps its failure to recognize man as a danger. For example, Bendire quotes E. McIlhenny, who says: "These birds are very tame, for on two occasions, while sitting still in the twilight to observe the movements of some Owls, I have had them come so close that I could have caught them. On one occasion one lit on my knee, and another on my foot as it was extended before me. Tuttle says: "Once I watched two males fighting and singing at intervals on a fallen birch sapling.
I was quite close to them--within a yard--but they did not seem to regard me as dangerous, and when I tired to imitate the guttural noises they were making, they circled round my head so closely that one touched me with his wings. In the darkness I was probably no more than a charred stump. Eifrig mentions "a unique experience" with a whippoorwill, which, displaying unexpected aggressiveness, darted repeatedly at his head.
It has been surmised that the whippoorwill uses its capacious mouth to carry its eggs, and even its young, out of danger when its nest has been discovered. There is no satisfactory evidence that the bird employs its mouth in this way, but it has been seen, on two occasions at least, carrying a young bird through the air held between its legs.
Bowles says: "I flushed a whippoorwill that rose with a baby bird clutched between her thighs ," and Bendire quotes H. Flint as follows: "I once, and only once, saw a female the male is never present at the nest carry a young bird about a rod, but cannot say she used her bill, and don't think she did, but I am almost sure the claws and legs only were used, as the young was hugged close to the body. When driving after dark we sometimes catch sight of one as it starts up from its bath on a country road, and, as it flies off and our headlights pick it up, the white tail feathers, if the bird is a male, shine out for an instant.
Forbush says: "Mr. Stanley H. Bromley of Southbridge, Massachusetts, tells me that a farmer there placed a large tray of dry wood ashes on the ground, and whippoorwills came there at night to dust in it. The song at a little distance comes to the ear as a penetrating whisper of the bird's name, repeated perfectly regularly, time after time with scarcely a pause between, at a rather rapid rate--about once a second.
The fourth note, a cluck before the whip-poor-will , is heard usually only when the bird is fairly near us, although we may hear it at a distance of yards under favorable circumstances.
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The syllable will carries farthest of all the syllables. It is rare to hear any material variation in the song, but there are individual birds that regularly sing an unusual form, and sometimes a bird will introduce occasionally one abnormal phrase into his singing. Simeon Pease Cheney , speaking from the point of view of music, says: "In the courageous repetition of his name he accents the first and last syllables, the last most; always measuring his song with the same rhythm, while very considerably varying the melody--which latter fact is discovered only by most careful attention.
And The Whippoorwill Sang, the book written by Micki Peluso, begins with her fourteen year old daughter, and the accident that would change the lives of her family as one of them crossover into eternity. The book is unusual, in that Peluso, not only enlightens us about a hideous crime, which takes place in her own family, but she also brings light upon the character of one of the most dangerous criminals that still runs amok in our society today, regardless of which country in the world we might live—— the hit and run driver that causes accidents under intoxication.
The driver who inebriates his brain into dysfunction; the driver, who then steps behind the wheel of his or her weapon to reach a destination; the driver, who out of disrespect for life, hits a person, an animal or an object and keeps going, as they think through their befuddlement about how they can now hide what they have done. Growth cycles that took a young woman who had gotten married at the age of seventeen through a life of loneliness and love, a life that is defined for the first fifteen years by her children.
Each child is special for Peluso. She has six of those little people we call babies, and each one renders, in her development into a woman, a certain degree of maturity that her girlfriends, who had decided to go away to school, were missing. So it was for Noelle, the Christmas baby that Peluso talked into not being born on Christmas Day, instead to appear a few days earlier.
Peluso talked to all her babies as she carried them. Maybe this is the reason why closeness developed between all of them and her, mother-child relationships that go beyond the grave into eternity—And The Whippoorwill Sang. What two-year-old kid would have thought to go to the neighbors and ask the lady to cook her some fried eggs cause her Mama was going through morning sickness from a new pregnancy. That alone defines Noelle. The charming baby whose first words were whish, whish, gulp, gulp, and ummmmm, because the laundry room was designated as her baby room.
Her marriage crises forced her to be the one to change. It was she who could not carry a grudge for long, and it was she who kept her marriage going when her husband gave her the ultimatum of take me or leave me, I am the way I am. I could only applaud her in her decision. What woman would have stayed with her family after such an ultimatum? Only a woman, who cared about the destiny of her children——And The Whippoorwill Sang. Please do not think the book is lopsided, because it is not. No, this is not the case at all. She brings out beautifully the great qualities he has as a provider for her and their brood.
He is the man who promise to take care of her as long as they both shall live, and thank God, he takes his promise he made on their wedding day seriously. I laughed, and I cried with Peluso. But the laughter takes its turn in the last chapters; Peluso has to give up her Christmas Baby. The child, whose first words were whish, whish, gulp, gulp, and ummmmm—— And The Whippoorwill Sang. After reading And The Whippoorwill Sang, my emotions were in disarray.
The ten-day struggle she went through, I related to heavily. Living in a foreign country, away from family and those I love, the agony of saying goodbye is difficult. One never knows when it is the last time. Therefore, this is a have-to-read book. It will take you on an emotional roller-coaster ride and will challenge you to rethink your drinking habits when you drive.
Most importantly though, it will challenge you to rethink your relationships with those who are close too you and cause you to consider reaching out instead of pushing away, loving instead of hating, and accepting instead of rejecting, those who mean the most to you——And The Whippoorwill Sang.
De for Germany. Nov 26, Becki Basley rated it it was amazing Shelves: book-challenge. I was so touched by this book. The author did a masterful job taking me on a journey through the history of her family interweaving the hard times with the light times. She does this while also describing her heartbreak facing a position no parent wants to ever be in with the coming loss of one of her children whose youth is torn away due to a strangers selfish decision. She keeps her promise to her daughter that her name will not be forgotten and that others will know her more as she lived than I was so touched by this book.
She keeps her promise to her daughter that her name will not be forgotten and that others will know her more as she lived than how she died. It's a book that I believe showcases more than any other book I have read on the full impact such a loss is on a family and I believe it should be a recommended read to any recovering alcoholic involved in a dwi incident, I think this book is also a testament to how a family goes on after the loss of a loved one and how the loved one can "stick around " to care for their family.
Ultimately, there is nothing really I can say as a criticism of this book. I admire the author's strength and courage in writing this memoir and wish her family the best in everything. Jan 29, Gigi Sedlmayer rated it it was amazing. I normally don't read memoirs, I am too emotional, but that book by Micki Peluso I is a beautiful record of Micki and Butch Peluso, as they went through their colorful life. Married as teenagers, building up their family, through love and tears and the tragic loss of their teenage girl.
Emotion were flowing. And so it was, I laughed, i cried, i grieved with them and felt their pain, losing their child. Micki and Butch, really had an extraordinary life. Thank you for shar I normally don't read memoirs, I am too emotional, but that book by Micki Peluso Thank you for sharing, and that i could have a part in it. May 21, D. Finn rated it it was amazing. Peluso, while her year-old daughter is in a hospital bed fighting for her life. The book starts out with the parents of six waiting to hear if one of their children who was hit by a drunk driver--lives.
I have been putting off reading this, because I had been through a similar situation a few years back. I know what it is like to sit next to the hospital bed of a once vibrant year-old girl, and see what is left after someone chooses to drink and drive. It is heartbreaking, but it is something I needed to read. I believe everyone should read this, before they ever drink and decide to get behind the wheel of a car. Peluso wrote it in a manner which made it easier to read.
She flashed back to her life and how they got to that point. It started with her marriage at years-old and their struggles and blessings. I was taken back to a time when female roles were different, and then changed. It was beautifully written and had me laughing and crying. This is a story that needed to be told and definitely needs to be read. This is a must-read book. And the Whippoorwill Sang captured my attention from the very first page and tugged at my heartstrings throughout. Whether it was to laugh or to cry, I found myself so involved with the story that I was anticipating the next chapter with unexpected zeal.
The book quickly drew me in, making me feel as if Micki and I were sitting at her kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. She is relaxed in her writing, which made me feel like I was a part of her large family. Her words are Her words are descriptive; so much so that I could see not just the curtains, but through the windows to the streets and neighborhood beyond.
I love that about this book, I can visualize what the couch looks like when Micki is recuperating from having a baby. I can see Dante's mischievous face, Michael and Kim talking about leaving home with only the things their grandmother had given them, Kelly learning to talk, and Nicole wrapping her hair around her toes. The book begins in at Micki's wedding at age 17 to Butch. I loved how she explained the wedding night in a way that would never offend any reader. I couldn't help but laugh and smile and feel good. She brought me back to the way things used to be in the 60s and 70s.
The places they lived while their family grew, the decor, the pets, so much to see with your mind's eye to make you feel a part of the story. Things were so much different back then, parents didn't worry so much about their children going out and playing, coming home when the street lights came on. Moms didn't drive, they did the wash and made clothes and did whatever they could to be sure to have enough money for groceries, and dads worked so hard to support the family. Children slept in attics, basements, and laundry rooms; wherever there was enough space to put a bed.
And the children never complained. Dinners were whatever moms could throw together from leftovers, and everyone was content. Most families at the time were large, and each child had their own personality traits which made them unique and separated them from their siblings. There were six children in the Peluso household. Noelle was independent at a very young age, broadly intelligent, and her charm captured your heart.
She went through that period of time that every girl does, where hormones cause a shift in personality, but came back to being the darling that her siblings all remember. At the young age of 14, she was killed by a drunk driver while walking to the park. Before she died, her mother promised her that she wouldn't let her life be in vain, that she would let the world know that Noelle had lived. It is so easy to relate to the stories Micki tells about those years, some of which had me laughing in sheer nostalgic bliss, and others that had me wanting to give her a hug and share her grief.
I highly recommend this book. There are so many reasons why. It takes a baby boomer back to life in the 60s, and it is a double bonus if you are from the Northeast. It is a comfortable book, yet one the reader never loses interest in. It can definitely be read in a weekend, and it is one that you will remember. Micki travels in time to the early days of her family, occasionally coming back to the moment at hand, when Noelle's life is hanging in the balance. But she doesn't stay there long, only enough to fill the reader's mind with sympathy for this mother who remains strong despite the pain she is going through.
Micki is the glue that is holding the family together, when she is the one who desperately needs to be hugged and loved and reassured that the choices she is making are the right ones. She wrestles with her spirituality, but knows in her heart that God is in charge and will one day remove her grief.
It brings to the open the heartache that families go through when a lawless person, not caring about whom they hurt goes out reckless into the world. The devastation that is caused by drunk drivers is brought home to you between the eyes. Noelle was real, for crying out loud, she was a little girl, only 14, and minding her own business when her life was taken in a matter of moments.
Is there justice for the family? The man who hit her served time, but Noelle never grew up. I know that Noelle lived, and you will too if you buy this book. It is a 5-star read! The first scene is of a mother dealing with the reality that her daughter has been in a serious, and probably fatal, accident—with her husband five hours away and the doctors urging her to accept defeat. As her tale continues, the terror of the present is dispersed throughout a retelling of the past.
She tells of her happiness in marrying Butch, but that his parents did not approve because she was not Catholic and, therefore, their baby was illegitimate. She definitely keeps her promise… Jul 21, Jan Sikes rated it really liked it. When 14 year old Noelle leaves the house one evening to join her friends at a concert in the park, no one knew it would be for the last time.
This is a gripping emotional account of how one mother faced losing a child to a drunk driver. The book begins in the waiting room at the hospital where Noelle has been taken in August Her neck is broken and spinal cord severed. Doctors give Micki and Butch, her parents, no hope of her survival. Writing is therapeutic and in this memoir, Micki Peluso takes us on a journey back through time. She eloped with her high school sweetheart and had a double wedding with her wacky mother. By the time Micki graduated from high school, she was pregnant with their first child. She and Butch are presented with many challenges as they start their young lives together as a family.
Children came close together and often. Each time she discovered she was pregnant yet again, there was anger and resentment as another mouth had to be fed. They wound up having six children. Micki describes her children vividly throughout the book; their personalities, their flaws and their strengths. The obvious love she has for each is portrayed beautifully in this story. The same is true for Butch. He was a workaholic and long hours away placed the burden of caring for so many children on Micki. I will say that throughout the book, the arguments they had over her getting pregnant so often and he working so many hours became redundant.
I also had a hard time keeping up with all of the characters. There were the six children, parents, friends, relatives, friends of the children and co-workers that moved through their lives. But, that became irrelevant as the emotion of the story carried me. I found no importance in trying to remember who everyone was. What Micki Peluso did with this memoir, was pour her heart and soul into words. The chaos of a large family, antics of the children and various animals they owned, to ghosts haunting the house and eventually death kept me reading. Anyone who has faced a loss of this proportion will find healing through reading this book.
And The Whippoorwill Sang
Nov 28, Gloria Antypowich rated it it was amazing. I confess, I bought this book because of the title and the cover. I did not realize that it was a memoir—truth is I may not have bought it. How much I would have missed! The loss of a child is devastating; I speak from experience- we lost an year-old son--but he died instantly. If it had to be, I thank God we did not have to endure the agony of sitting vigil for ten days, to have to accept the loss in the end. The raw story of such a loss would make a desolate read, but Peluso skillfully inserted glimpses of the grief and pain of losing year-old Noelle, throughout the story, while sharing other aspects of her marriage and the six children that they had.
I laughed, I cried, I related to the happy, the sad, and the stressful times that this couple and their family experienced. I wholeheartedly recommend this book. It touched my heart, as I believe it will most people. Life is full of unexpected, unplanned events—joyful and tragic, hilarious and shocking. And the Whippoorwill Sang shares the story of an extraordinary relationship, an extraordinary family and the reality of their life. This is a genuine slice of Americana served up with all the love, pain, and laughter of a working class American family.
Micki and Butch are married at seventeen and proceed to have six beautiful, healthy children, almost one a year. Unable to find work, Butch becomes a bartender and leaves the raising of the children to Micki. Unhappy with the way things are going, Micki, and her indomitable pioneering spirit, persuades her husband to leave everything on the East Coast and head for Las Vegas.
They travel in a camper with six kids and a dog. This trip alone will keep you laughing for hours. The constant struggle to keep the family fed, clothed and schooled is not unlike that which most of us have had to deal with throughout our lives but Micki does it with aplomb, aided by a fabulous sense of humor.
Suddenly, life hits Micki and Butch in the very core of their being when one of their beloved children is hit by a drunk driver, and her spine is severed. You can feel the love and support of her family and friends, but Micki is inconsolable. This incredible story took me through a range of emotions unlike any I have ever felt from a book.
I want to thank Micki for sharing her life, her sorrow, her grief, and her children with us and my prayers are with the whole family, because this kind of loss never goes away. Mary Firmin, author This is a remarkable read! This beautiful memoir delves deeply into every emotion known to the soul Through it all, Ms. Peluso captures and captivates her audience with eloquent and powerful prose, beginning with her bedside vigil in a hospital ICU after a horrific accident involving her daughter and a drunk driver, then taking This is a remarkable read!
Peluso captures and captivates her audience with eloquent and powerful prose, beginning with her bedside vigil in a hospital ICU after a horrific accident involving her daughter and a drunk driver, then taking us back in time to the beginning I am amazed at the strength and character of this author.
Dear Bird Folks:
To endure such a tragedy as the loss of a child, and be able to pen the experience so eloquently with candor and humor, speaks volumes about the power and spirit of a mother's undying love. When I read a book, I want to feel I'm a part of the story, as though I am there experiencing whatever is about to unfold. This author did not leave me wanting She made me feel. I highly recommend this book to anyone. It is a powerfully written story of the sorrows and triumphs of real life. Not a sob story or feel-sorry-for-me essay, but a true memorial of a life taken all too soon.
You have done great honor to your daughter. You are the quintessential definition of Mother. I'm positive Noelle is smiling from above. I truly enjoyed reading this book. The book is a roller coaster of emotions, you laugh one moment, the next you sigh and then you cry, and back again.
You start off in the emergency room of the hospital the fateful night her daughter got struck by a drunk driver; you're then flung into the past as Micki and her future husband Butch are planning their elopement. You're then flung back to present to a crucial point as the family are waiting to hear the next development concerning her daughter.
The repetitious nature of flashbacks adds to emotions as one reads this book. This book is a must read, even for people who don't usually read memoirs, A powerful memoir, deeply moving, at times very funny, but travelling always, inexorably, toward the heart-rending tragedy that is at its core. It's a finely-crafted true story, following an American family from their earliest years of young marriage, financial and family difficulties, through the births of six children, uprooting to travel across America, living in a haunted house and more Always, the tale returns to the terrible accident that robs one beloved child of her life, then launche A powerful memoir, deeply moving, at times very funny, but travelling always, inexorably, toward the heart-rending tragedy that is at its core.
Always, the tale returns to the terrible accident that robs one beloved child of her life, then launches itself anew to recount the next stages in the family's lives. Finally, almost unbearably, the closing pages detail the last moments of a child so brutally robbed of life, and the agony of the parents and siblings forced to live with the loss of such a shining presence in their lives. This might have been a bitter tale, justifiably, but it isn't. Far from it. It is a celebration of a life, and lives, and of Life itself, with all its sometimes awful challenges and sorrows, as well as its joys.
Noelle lives on, through and beyond the pages of this book. You won't finish And The Whippoorwill Sang without tears, that's guaranteed, but you will feel uplifted by having read it. Bad times come to all. Some have more than their fair share. And The Whippoorwill Sang" is one of those novels that bring tears and some laughter. How many times have we said "Goodbye" to a loved one with the assumption of their return after a typical daily activity?
Micki Peluso expected to see her daughter's return before day's end. Yes, she did see her daughter again, but not as anticipated. A horrific accident changed her life that forced gut-wrenching and soul-searching decisions 5-Stars! A horrific accident changed her life that forced gut-wrenching and soul-searching decisionsdecisions that shook her very foundation of family as she knew it.
The loss of a child is never easy and lives with the surviving parent eternally. Micki Peluso writes from the heart in a style that pulls the reader in with captivation. Her prose illustrate her talent and writer's heart. She reveals the pain and strength she has derived from such a horrific event, while creating a tribute to her late daughter.
I highly recommend " And The Whippoorwill Sang" to readers who desire quality writing with heartfelt emotion. Sep 06, Rea Martin rated it it was amazing. Micki Peluso has done her daughter proud. I was not expecting such an engaging experience. Often memoirs that commemorate a deceased child are difficult to read due to sentimentality and emotion that overpowers the story.
Emphatically not so in this case. Peluso brings us into the story of her young and growing family with great honesty and detail. Her story is often entertaining and always interesting. Having married before graduating from high school and spending so many years up to her neck Micki Peluso has done her daughter proud. Having married before graduating from high school and spending so many years up to her neck in child rearing , I want to know when and where Micki Peluso learned not only the craft of writing, but of story structure. She is a natural storyteller,and I recommend this book to everyone, especially anyone who has lost a child.
I hope the author has sent or will send this book to the MADD organization, where it may be put to good use educating abusers and hopefully preventing more tragedy. Aug 19, Michelle rated it it was amazing. This is a memoir of family, love and loss.