In the early cool of summer mornings, the air is filled with bird songs. They tweet, they trill and they whistle with great exuberance announcing the arrival of morning light. I’ve tried to identify the birds by their songs. I know without seeing the towhee who sings “drink your tea.” I usually have to see a bird first before I can say, “Oh you’re the one who sings from the dogwood tree.”

There is another strata of whistlers in the neighborhood. Two boys worked out whistle signals. They were 9 when I first heard them a couple of years ago. I thought I was hearing a mockingbird. These boys communicate by whistling. During the school year, they do the bus stop whistle in the morning. One boy lives on my street, and the other lives around the block. The first one out the door whistles, and the other returns the whistle until they catch sight of each other. They whistle to each other in the afternoons as they walk home from the bus. This summer they are at it again as they do yard work or make plans to go to the swimming pool.

One day I was out walking and saw them playing pitch and catch. I asked them how they created such an interesting communication idea. I was amazed at their answer. They said in fourth grade they studied Indians and learned some Indians used whistles to send messages. So they taught themselves to whistle. They whistled very loud which made their moms tell them to “take it outside.” One boy told me his mom said that she felt like his whistle could do brain surgery on her.

Their whistles, just like the birds, are individually distinctive. They created a simple whistle code. They said at first they could only make one sound. In the Indian tradition, they practiced until they had a variety of musical whistle signals. These are the whistles I have come to recognize.

The neighborhood whistlers jostled my memories of the melodic whistling by my father as he got ready for work in the morning. Then there were the glorious days at Frog Hollow Farm when my grandfather whistled as we walked to the barn to feed the cows and turn them out to pasture. The cows recognized his whistle, and, oh, the moo greetings that began when they heard him approaching. At the sound of his whistle, they returned to the barn from the pasture in the afternoons.

The boys are right. Whistling is a good method of communication. Whistling for my dog to come in is easier than calling his name. A late night whistle for the dog wears better on the neighbors’ ears, too. A shrill whistle sails across a parking lot or swimming pool and certainly gets the intended person to turn around faster than by calling the name. Long ago when innocence prevailed, young men could whistle as pretty girls walked by, and everybody understood the whistle was a compliment.

Everyone can learn to whistle, so I have heard. Although my brothers, my children and some of my grandchildren can whistle with or without using their fingers, my skill, other than whistling for the dog, is limited to whistling with a blade of grass.

The grass whistle is so simple a preschooler can do it. Some of the fun is searching for just the right blade of grass. Pick a long, substantial blade of grass. The grass should be long enough to stretch along the side of your thumb from the top of the nail to the bottom of your thumb. Place the grass between your thumbs. Stretch it tight, and then blow gently. If you blow too hard, the grass will shred. You will come to know grass textures; what holds up and what doesn’t. Soon you will have a family of grass whistlers.

From the time she got her permanent teeth, my daughter has been able to belt out a powerful whistle without using her fingers. It may have been a survival skill she developed growing up in a house full of brothers. Once again she has put her amazing fingerless whistle skill to work.

She teaches fourth grade. During recess her kids come running when they hear her loud shrill whistle on the playground. She says it’s all about lip and tongue placement.

I follow her directions and practice in front of a mirror. So far I sound like a chimney that isn’t drawing correctly. My mirror cleaning skills have improved!

During a birthday call to my grandson who turned 11, I asked him how he learned to whistle. He said he uses his fingers. Sometimes he uses the two pointer fingers, but lately he was using his thumb and forefinger because it’s faster to use one hand than two. Now how could I possibly have known about whistle efficiency?
In theory the thumb and forefinger rest sideways on the teeth about half way back. The tongue is flat just behind the lower teeth. So far so good. Here’s the tricky part. First inhale, then blow gently over the tongue, between the fingers, and through the open lips. Somehow the fingers direct the airflow. How and when the whistle comes is a mystery to me. So far, all I get is the rush of air.

If summer gets exceedingly hot or really boring, why not throw down the whistling challenge to your family. The entertainment value for beginning whistlers and their audience is priceless. The equipment is minimalÖ blades or grass or clean fingersÖ and a drink of water, for every once in a while you will probably want to “wet your whistle.”

‹ Heidi Maness Hartwiger, a Wheeling native, is a writer, teacher and storyteller. She is the author of two books, “All Join Hands: The Forgotten Art of Playing With Children” and “A Gift of Herbs.” She is a mother of four and a grandmother of five.