Bobwhite, bobwhite!

Here’s hoping they aren’t offended by the name

WE’D BETTER be careful here. The last time we mentioned the bobwhite quail, we had to run letters from several precincts that informed us, in no uncertain terms, that there is no such thing as a bobwhite quail. And not because of the decreasing numbers of birds in this sometimes Not Natural Enough State. But because, well, there’s no bird called the bobwhite quail, no matter how many times you’ve heard the bobwhite quail called the bobwhite quail.

Some of us wonder if the bobwhite quail is offended by the handle the humans put on it. These days, you never can be sure. Offense seems to be the coin of the realm in many quarters. Maybe the Colinus cristatus or the Colinus virginianus get upset at the word “bobwhite.” Though we doubt the old-timers who used to sit around the porch discussing the many virtues of the bird would care a whit.

The letters we got about our mentioning the bobwhite quail were scarcely the first time we were accused, and convicted, of linguistic malpractice. We’re sentenced for it all the time, if not frog-marched out of the newsroom. Ask the copy editors—who pull their hair out because this column doesn’t use AP style. Not consistently anyway.

Not a bobwhite quail? And buzzards aren’t buzzards, either, but officially vultures. And the country folk don’t know what they’re talking about. And the epic sagas of Homer weren’t written by Homer at all, but by another blind Greek writer of the same name.

Happily, there is no shortage of certified experts, with or without degrees, to correct the uninformed and irresponsible rest of us, much like the dear lady at every card game who corrects everybody else’s pronunciation. Somewhere in her thoroughly Southern, and thoroughly colloquial, letters to friends, Flannery O’Connor mentions a young matron of her acquaintance who reads Uncle Remus stories to her small children but is careful to correct the grammar. Such is some of our correspondence.

But venture! Who wants to watch a football game with only fullbacks running up the middle? Throw it deep! So we will dedicate this editorial to the bobwhite quail. Which surely still exists, no matter the word police. And we will deal with the consequences, and letter writers, tomorrow.

Our man in the Pine Thicket Bureau—columnist and reporter Bryan Hendricks—reported over the weekend that federal funding may be on its way to help restore the bobwhite quail to its proper place. That is, under cabin porches and beside dirt road rightof-ways and all over patched places in pastures throughout Arkansas. It’s been too long—too damn long—since we last heard that bird of a summer evening. Some of us are old enough to remember the kids calling them up during the summer months. The birds would come within a stone’s throw if the caller was good enough.

But the birds have disappeared, mostly. We know a 20-something outdoorsman who, only a year or so ago, took a picture of a bobwhite quail in the wild, and passed it around the camp, asking what the darn thing was. Imagine a full-grown Arkie not knowing. It saddens, no end.

But if a bill wafting its way through Congress is passed, millions of dollars might be spent upgrading the bird’s habitat. And, according to Mr. Hendricks, it wouldn’t cost taxpayers more because existing money would be reallocated from other projects.

We’re not sure what exactly happened to the bobwhite quail in Arkansas. Surely the explosion of feral pigs has something to do with it. One sow could eat a truckload of quail eggs in one sitting. There was a rumor several years back that the corn from deer feeders made the birds sick. But surely the top problem has been the dwindling habitat for quail and the destruction of native grasses. That should be something that can be overcome with a bit of funding and a lot of education. Which made Bryan Hendricks’ column from Sunday more than interesting—it was inspirational.

THE BOBWHITE quail was an important animal in these latitudes for generations. They not only provided meat during the season, but a backing soundtrack to the summers. And kept you on your toes in hikes around the state. (Have you ever heard the sound of a herd of stampeding buffalo and the sound of a covey of quail getting up, unexpectedly, three feet in front of you? Both sounds are similar.) And the time spent with Grandpa showing you how to use that new .410 was an important part of growing up for many an Arkie.

But bobwhite quail? What are we to do with the nomenclature?

Allow us to propose a reasonable compromise: Our certified biologists and uncertified letter writers would remain free to call the bobwhite quail anything they like. And with their kind permission (or even without) their never humble servants here at Arkansas’ Newspaper will continue to use the common terms and common language of this small, wonderfully in-between but never indefinite state. And continue to use words and phrases like buzzard, nutria rat, squirrel dog, king snake (for a dozen varieties) . . . .

And bobwhite quail. Let the letter wars begin.