A Waiting Game

Everyday Epiphany: Waiting and seeing is the first course of (in)action.

“I don’t know how a woodpecker thinks,” said Mike in answer to my question as to why a downy woodpecker chiseled a larger entrance to our wren house.

This past spring, we hosted a house wren family in the eight-inch wren box hung from the roof corner. Like parents reveling in the stages of our children we watched the love sick male warble his heart out to an aloof female. Proceeding in the “build it and she will come” philosophy, he gathered twigs, poked them into the excavation, and created a home. Before long he convinced her of his honorable intentions and they reared three chicks that left the nest ready to take on life.

I wondered if the wren mom’s heart swelled with pride seeing her independent offspring take flight, but then just as quickly broke, like mine did, when I dropped my son off at college.

Mountain Out Of A Mole Hill

Now the chiseling drumming of a downy enlarged the wren sized entrance to one that a turkey vulture might consider accessing.

“If she’s chiseling away at the wren house will the cedar siding be next?” I considered. “I’m a birder. I don’t want to get rid of woodpeckers, but I want her to know the boundaries. I want to respectfully coexist.”

(Yes, I identified her as a her by the lack of a red spot at the nape of the neck.)

“It’s a woodpecker dilemma,” said Mike in a tone indicating that he didn’t consider it a dilemma at all.

“If I take down the wren house, Ringo’s attention might switch to the cedar siding. Then she might drill a large cavity in our walls for shelter during the winter,” I said.

(Yes, I named her Ringo, a fitting name given all the drumming I heard.)

“That definitely will happen,” said Mike in a tone indicating that he really didn’t think it would happen.

 “Come spring, she might raise a brood. That brood will mature and return to chisel additional openings. Before long there might be a descent of downies riddling all the walls.”

(Yes, a group of woodpeckers was called a descent. At least that’s what Siri reported.)

“You’re not getting carried away at all,” said Mike in a tone indicating that he DID believe I was getting carried away.

“This could be a real problem,” I said.

“Or it could be no problem at all,” said Mike weary of my catastrophic thinking.  “We’ll wait and see.” He then retreated to the screened porch, novel in hand, to do just that.

Being a woman of action, I needed a plan to act on. To devise a plan, I needed to learn more about downy woodpeckers. To learn more about downy woodpeckers, I needed to research.

There was more to drumming that met the eye (or ear).

Talking It Up

The Ringo’s rat-a-tat-tats may be tapping a flirtatious “I’d like to hook up” or a possessive “This is my home.” Either way the louder the better. Apparently, the hollow wren house delivered a pleasing echo.

If being noticed was her goal, pounding on hollow wood wasn’t as loud as pounding on metal. I could wire the spare length of gutter to the fence far from the siding. (“I” meant Mike. He’s good at that stuff.) Then I would bang on the gutter demonstrating the superior sound and lure the downy to the more acceptable alternative. (“I” meant me. Mike would probably upload video with sarcastic captions to family and friends as the “gutter” plan unfolded.)  

I located the spare gutter.

A Place Of Your Own

The flurry of woodchips that rained down from Ringo’s buzzsaw beak gave credence to her excavating shelter for the winter. Once she realized the wren house too small, she might turn her attention to MY house’s siding. 

If shelter were her purpose, I’d give her shelter. I Googled “Woodpecker House” (and tah-dah) plans appeared! I could make a woodpecker house from the scrap wood in the garage. (“I” meant Mike.) Then I’d hang it 6-22 feet high in the maple across the yard away from MY home. (“I” also meant Mike.)

I printed the plans.

Eat Like A Bird

Our downy might be hunting for a creepy crawly snack. Woodpeckers drill holes in search of insects and extract them with their long barb tipped tongue. Ringo’s tongue wrapped around the back of her head which protected her brain from the pounding. What would protect my house from her pounding my siding?

If food drove her, I’d give her food. (I could execute this plan without Mike’s help.) Suet made from lard, peanut butter and nuts would lull Ringo into a food coma and she wouldn’t bother with hunting through my siding.

I cooked a woodpecker banquet.

Back Up Plan

What if the plans didn’t work? What if she preferred wood to metal? Siding hole to nesting box? Creepy crawlies to suet?

If I couldn’t lure her away, I’d have to scare her away! Shiny spinners and swirly spirals and a menacing plastic owl would drive Ringo away with flashing and whirling and disgruntled looks.

I ordered deterrents from Amazon.

Best Laid Plans

With a length of gutter tucked under my arm, woodpecker house plans in my back pocket, and a suet feeder swinging from my hand, I sought out Mike to update him on Plans A, B, C, and D. I found him where I left him in the screened porch. 

“I have something to tell you,” I said.

“I have something to tell you, too,” he replied. “I’ve been watching the woodpecker this afternoon. Seems like she didn’t find what she was looking for and left. Been flitting around the pines, but no interest in the wren house OR the siding.”

Mike nodded toward the collection I toted. “What have you been up to?”

I shrugged. “Thought I’d clean out a few things while I waited to see what Ringo, I mean, the woodpecker did like you suggested. I didn’t want to get carried away.”

Sometimes inaction like waiting and seeing was the best action to take. 

I hustled inside to file the plans and store the spare gutter right after I cancelled the Amazon orders.

Check out my books, OPERATION HOPPER.