Chuck Will was a stranger to me, our paths had never crossed, and I can honestly say that I was not aware he had a widow. Oddly enough, I know of another Chuck Will but he is not the subject of this writing. This is about Chuck’s widow and not about either Chuck.
I crossed paths with Chuck’s widow this past Memorial Day weekend while we were in the Red River Gorge in Eastern Kentucky. The Gorge, located within the Daniel Boone National Forest abounds with natural stone arches, unusual rock formations, and beautiful sandstone cliffs. It is a wonderful place for hiking and rock climbing, if you’re the daring type. It is also a nice place to just get away, to blow the dust of the world off of your shoulders, and find an inner peace.
Fighting our way through rush hour and holiday traffic in Louisville and Lexington would not be finding inner peace, but we finally made our way to the Bert T. Combs Mountain Parkway on the sunrise side of Lexington. As you drive east on the Parkway, you are reminded that you are entering a different world. Gone are the bluegrass horse farms of Lexington giving way to the mountains, hills and hollers of eastern Kentucky, the Appalachian variety of course. Passing by Clay City, Waltersville, and Stanton we left the parkway at Slade and headed south on Highway 11. The road curved alongside sandstone cliffs and rocky streams meandered along the roadside. For me it felt like I was in another country, much farther away than the mere three hours we were from home.
Passing through Zachariah and just past Zoe, we turned off 11 at the local VFW lodge. Descending a gravel road past a small cemetery, we entered a dense wood of oak and maple with mountain laurel in full bloom. Away from the hustle and bustle of our other world we had arrived at our destination, aptly named the Retreat, and little did I suspect, an encounter with Chuck Will’s widow.
With a little more daylight ahead of us, we opted for assistance with our evening meal and headed for Hill Top Pizza which advertised subs, salads, and hot wings. Let me just say, the pizza and dry-rubbed hot wings were palate pleasers. I didn’t try the salad but I did get to know the resident feline. She was helping herself to a bit of pizza when I left. Hill-top was a local joint and it helped us get into the rhythm of the local scene.
After a good “after the road” meal, we settled into the peace and tranquility of our Retreat. As the day began to turn and the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the sounds of night soon chased the day away for good. Soon the crickets were singing, the frogs were chorusing, and the occasional owl was hooting. I was enjoying a nice Kentucky moonlight stroll, when a sound broke through the night air that I had never heard before. In the still, lonely darkness, my ears strained to hear what my eyes could not see. It came from deep in the woods but the sound was as clear as if someone was whispering in my ear. Was it a ghost from the cemetery up the hill or was someone lost in the woods? I listened intently in the darkness, my ears more acutely aware of the sounds around me.
It kept calling and the voice became clearer. Chuck-wills-widow, chuck-wills-widow. It would stop for just a moment and then call again, chuck-wills-widow, chuck-wills-widow. My imagination got the better of me for a moment and I imagined I was hearing, I am Chuck Will’s Widow, I am Chuck Wills’ Widow. Was it Chuck’s widow calling to me from beyond the grave, begging to be released from some ungodly curse?
Before the chill of fear overcame me, I remembered reading about this call in one of my bird guides. I was being given the rare opportunity to hear the call of Chuck-will’s-widow, a member of the nightjar family of birds. This bird, a denizen of the night, is rarely seen during the day so the opportunity to listen to its distinctive nocturnal song was a special gift. As I continued to listen to the calls, my imagination ran wild in the darkness and I began to wonder if it really might be Chuck Will’s widow calling out to those who would listen. Perhaps her body is buried in the small cemetery up the hill, while her spirit wanders lost in these Kentucky woods. She may be looking for a home, a place where her spirit can find peace. Instead, could she be cursed to wander through these Kentucky woods calling, I am Chuck Will’s widow…I am Chuck Will’s Widow? It was these thoughts, and the night, that made my goosebumps get a little bigger. I decided it was time to go inside.