Many times during the following winter they were the subject of my
thoughts. I wondered where they were and whether they would return. Yes,
early one morning of the next spring I was awakened by his beating a
reveille in the same old place on the roof-board of the cabin. With
little delay he selected a place for the new home. Then followed a
fortnight of hard work and vigilance when the excavation was completed
and only awaited the coming of his better half, who was as prompt in her
arrival.
There are families to raise; there are thousands of flies, bugs and
beetles to catch, for which they are never given credit, but let them
take a berry and it is “Johnnie, get your gun.” Early one bright morning
in July there was noise and bustle about the woodpecker home. It was not
difficult to guess what was going to take place. The parents were close
by the nest on the side of the tree. The little birds had crowded out of
the entrance, eager for their first flight, which, like the first
tottering steps of a baby, is attended with much chatter and nonsense
that is not understood.
The mother set an example by flying to a tree some fifty feet distant.
The little birds followed with a labored effort and, striking the tree
with a thud near the ground, managed to stick fast. Now began their
arboreal life of tree climbing at which they were awkward at first and
had many falls. The young birds were a soft smoky gray. There was no
sign as yet of the cardinal cap and white bodice with black chevrons,
which would make them so conspicuous during the next year.
In their daily visits to the yard each parent chaperoned one of the baby
birds, teaching it all the tricks in the woodpecker trade, as they
conducted it from tree to tree where they searched amid the bark and
worm holes for morsels of food that had been secreted there.
One day late in October they failed to return; this ended another year
and brought another separation.