View from the North 40: We ain't whistling 'Dixie' here

Turns out, whistling is a little more sophisticated than just putting your lips together and blowing.

When I was a kid of 10 or so, my older brother took whistling beyond the old puckered-lips technique of our younger days after someone showed him how to whistle in some mysterious fashion that involved using the first two fingers of both hands between his pursed lips.

It was a windy, but deep and round-toned sound, very unlike our regular whistling. It was a new and interesting skill, therefore he wouldn’t show me how to do it, or whistle long enough for me to figure it out.

He was two years older so would always be bigger, stronger and faster than me, but I had my talents and a whole boatload of tenacity, so his being better than me in anything wasn’t a given. As for this whistling business, I figured if he could do it, then it wasn’t rocket science, so I set out to learn it on my own.

I did just that.

About a week later we were walking home up our long driveway from the bus stop and I started in with my big setup. I whistled through my lips, so he one-upped me by whistling with his fingers. I, of course, whistled through my fingers triumphantly. My success, though, was short-lived. He started showing off that he could whistle that way with different combinations of fingers — a big deal in the world of kids.

It appeared that someone else had been practicing, as well, to keep ahead of me, but I was having none of that business.

Because I was a little kid with unlimited time and energy for kid-stuff, I spent every moment possible figuring out this whistling with combinations of fingers trick. But because I also possessed that certain cleverness that every kid after the firstborn child learns in order to score wins against older siblings, I also figured out how to whistle in a third way that uses just your tongue, teeth and lips.

Remember that I said I had my talents? Oh, yeah. I could do the other whistling — pursed lips and using my fingers — OK, but this third technique, this was a true gift. Ear-piercingly loud and clear, with a wide range of notes, this was amazing.

The day of the showdown proved to be so epic, in the way those duals are between kids, that this story one of the few memories I have of my childhood. Yes, it was that perfect, that deliciously triumphant.

The scenario played out much like our last duel for whistling supremacy, but to his annoyance I, too, could whistle with combinations of fingers — not very well, but that didn’t matter, did it. I had the awesome new whistling technique to unveil.

I played it up, saying it was so unfortunate that his new style of whistling required putting fingers in his mouth. I mean, what if it was winter and he had mittens on to keep his fingers warm, or worse, what if his fingers were super-nasty dirty? Too bad he couldn’t do this — and I let out a big whistle, the sound bursting like arrows from between my teeth, tongue and lips.

His immediate jealousy and anger were all the reward I needed for the victory, but I pulled out my signature move anyway: my subtle, satisfied, wiseacre grin. The quiet rage that propelled him to turn and stomp away was just a laughter-inducing bonus.

I bring all this up only because I saw a video the other day about how people in a remote village in Turkey use whistling as a means of communication because the sound carries for such a long distance in the narrow valley they live in.

I thought I had been clever over the years to have come up with separate types of whistles to call in the dog, the cat, the horses and, of course, my husband, but the whistling these villagers do is a whole language, like with sounds equivalent to vowels and consonants. And it’s taught in school.

As it turns out, a little research has revealed that several cultures around the world use a form of whistled language. Somehow, it makes my soul happy to know this.

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I am a second child, I approve of cleverness at [email protected].