That’s how my grandpa taught me to identify this bird back in southern Mississippi in the 1980s. My grandpa loved his birds.
For the longest time, I’ve heard that haunting melody in the piney woods of Mississippi, but the first time I’d ever photographed (or remembered I’d seen) a bobwhite was this year in Erath, Louisiana when I heard that song outside the window of my car. I stopped and there it was.
Declining in numbers because of its ground nesting habit being too easy to get to by feral cats, bobwhites are something that I took for granted in my youth. They’re not nearly as common now as they once were. So when I hear one, it reminds me of my grand father.