Whack! Whack! Slowly, I tracked the sound, and focused the lens.
Ah, there he was.
Wood chip by wood chip, a gray bill sporting a red mustache chiseled out an impressive, oval opening in a decayed tree trunk. In between each strike, the Woodpecker drew back his neck then pulled forward with his feet. That action produced a powerful thunk.
He followed the tunnels made by carpenter ants and larvae: Whack!
“He loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah …” I hummed that dark consolation to the devoured beetle larvae. The bird continued to hammer into the heartwood hurling large shards of wood that gathered at the base of the tree in a pile. His drumming against the hollow shaft declared his territory and also, attracted the attention of a nearby female. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”
She laughed: Dah, Dah Dah! Nasal yelps followed. Unlike the flame crested male, her scarlet crown was set back and although minus the red mustache, the female was as grand as he.
In flight, the sun caught the glinting white edge of her wings. The spectacular vision kept me in a musical mood: “Come on Baby, light my fire.” Crown feathers raised and her wings remained spread. Together, both birds clung to the tree and flamboyantly performed a rhythmic bobbing courtship. The door was open. So, she examined the future nest, climbed inside, and continued the work from within.
For five weeks they worked together. And, after the extensive foraging and drilling, a home for the season was created. Next spring, after the miracle of four white eggs, the couple will do it all again leaving this nest for squatters, birds or small mammals unable to do such excavation.
The female incubated the eggs by day and the red mustached male at night for about 16 days, awaiting the little beaks that would greedily demand regurgitated insects … most often carpenter ants.
I set the binoculars down after a morning of observation. Perhaps, luck and timing would give me a gift. Hidden behind the screen of the little cabin in the woods, I had a vision of witnessing first flight.
A week after I heard high pitched screeches from the nest, I woke to a crack.
Taking no time for shoes, I flew out the door. But, the hunter was gone as death always is.
The scream stuck in my chest as a pajama clad me, knelt on damp moss next to the sticky, bloodied wings. Above in the nest, not ready to fly, fledglings encasing arrhythmic frantic beats, squeaked. Squeak, squeak.
His mate was loud. She fussed and made whinny calls from a tree nearby. I backed away from the scene.
The sky darkened to a purple/ blue paper mache. She was going to stick with him forever; I
understood that … and now, dust to dust; that's Biblical, am I correct? Dust to dust and that is that.
understood that … and now, dust to dust; that's Biblical, am I correct? Dust to dust and that is that.
