I grew up in the 1960s in Northern Virginia near Seven Corners. Every day, during the spring, summer and fall, I used to hear the clear, ringing whistle of bobwhite quail. You could hear the call from half a mile away. At night when temperatures would allow it, we would sleep with the windows open and hear the song of whippoorwills, a forest ground bird, in our backyard. I cannot remember the last time I heard either.