The Woodpecker

Another one of those pesky woodpeckers.

A short story be Matias Travieso-Diaz

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

Many years ago, when we moved into the home we had just built, my wife and I installed a bird feeder off the deck on the back of the house, so that she and I could sit in our porch by the deck and watch the birds of all kinds and sizes – from miniscule titmice to large blackbirds – that inhabited the woodlands behind our property.

Among our favorite visitors were the pileated woodpeckers that nested on the hardwood trees that lined the drop from our home to a stream forty feet below. Normally these woodpeckers would find their meals by drilling holes in the neighborhood trees in search of insects inhabiting the trees. However, sometimes a woodpecker would descend on our feeder and peck away at the seeds inside. Woodpeckers often made a mess, since they were very picky as to what seeds they would carry away and which would be dropped to the floor of our deck. We did not mind, because they are beautiful birds, with black bodies, white lines running down the sides of the throat, and vivid red crests in the form of mohawks.

The only discordant note about the woodpeckers was the "wuk, wuk"call they emitted to communicate with each other. Again, their calls were rather infrequent and seldom interfered with the peace of our surroundings. By comparison, the swallows that gathered around the feeder and fought over seeds were far noisier and annoying.

My wife used to spend hours sitting on her armchair in the left corner of the porch, watching attentively the comings and goings of the birds at the feeder and the trips swallow families would make, back and forth, to the small bird house we had hung on the back wall of the deck. After her passing, my bird-watching visits to the porch have become less frequent but I still will fill the feeder with fresh seed every morning and retrieve it at night to protect it from the nighttime incursions of the racoons that roam the woods.

***

The weather had been rather erratic and challenging that year. The winter was unusually snowy and lingered into mid-April, when it was succeeded by a short, frigid spring. In early June, temperatures rose and I was looking forward to a warm and sunny summer. In the middle of the month, however, our area was blanketed by a series of thunderstorms that drenched the neighborhood and, among other things, killed many of the bugs that fed the wildlife. In advance of the first of these storms, I brought the feeder inside and kept it there lest it be blown away by the high winds that would accompany the predicted storm.

It rained all night and, as is usually the case, the sound of the rain lulled me into a heavier than usual sleep. I would have probably rested in bed until midmorning but was awakened at dawn by Maggie’s loud barking. I tried unsuccessfully to quiet the dog down until, now fully awake, I realized that Maggie was responding to an insistent tapping outside our house. The noise did not come from some neighbor working on his yard or a commotion in the woods, but rose from the front of the house, right below my bedroom window.

I went downstairs and rushed out the front door. The tapping persisted, and at first I could not identify its source. Finally, I looked up and realized that there was a woodpecker hanging on one of the wooden eaves at the edge of the roof that extend beyond the walls of my house. The bird was busily pecking at the eave and had already drilled a sizable hole. Apparently, the storm- sodden trees were not suitable for the woodpecker and I had removed the feeder, the backup source of his breakfast.

I became cross at the bird, both for waking me up early and for inflicting noticeable damage on the eave. I cried loudly to scare the woodpecker away but it looked at me once, with what I interpreted as disdain, and continued to drill away.

The woodpecker was sitting about ten feet above ground, in a location that was partially obstructed by a maple tree planted by the front door, so it was not within easy reach of any of the tools that I could have employed to drive it away. Finally, I hooked up my garden hose and directed a thick stream of water at the bird. The force of the water blew the woodpecker away from the eave and drenched its body. “Woody” took off while emitting an indignant wuk, wuk call that I interpreted as a protest or a cry of alarm.

***

That night, a surprise second thunderstorm hit us, unannounced. It was even stronger than the first one, with heavy winds and torrents of rain accompanied by lurid flashes of lightning. The heavy influx of water overflowed my house’s gutters and seeped through several windows at all levels of the house. I anticipated having to undertake expensive repairs to windows, floors, and walls.

Then there was a momentary lull in the storm, an instant in which the winds died down, the thunder ceased, and the rain decreased to a drizzle. An insidious buildup of tension ensued as I expected the tempest to resume at any moment, perhaps with greater force. Then, the silence was broken by an ironic wuk, wuk call from the woodpecker. It seemed to come from a short distance away, though nothing outside was discernible in the darkness.

Had the morning’s visit by the woodpecker been intended as a warning that more misery was on its way? Did my rude termination of the bird’s visit caused it to summon the storm later that day?

I never learned the answers to these questions. All I know is that my former friend the woodpecker was never seen again, at my feeder or anywhere in the surrounding woods, and my life became a little emptier for the loss.

END