Their need of expression is apparently
just as great as that of the song-birds, and it is not surprising that
they should have found out that there is music in a dry, seasoned limb
which can be evoked beneath their beaks.
A few seasons ago a downy woodpecker, probably the individual one who
is now my winter neighbor, began to drum early in March in a partly
decayed apple-tree that stands in the edge of a narrow strip of
woodland near me. When the morning was still and mild I would often
hear him through my window before I was up, or by half-past six
o'clock, and he would keep it up pretty briskly till nine or ten
o'clock, in this respect resembling the grouse, which do most of their
drumming in the forenoon. His drum was the stub of a dry limb about
the size of one's wrist. The heart was decayed and gone, but the outer
shell was hard and resonant. The bird would keep his position there
for an hour at a time. Between his drummings he would preen his
plumage and listen as if for the response of the female, or for the
drum of some rival.
Pages:
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267