I share my house with a woodpecker, which is a challenge. He announces his arrival every spring with a loud early morning thrumming on my roof. He found us four years ago so I should be better prepared, but this year he arrived in February, which seems awfully early. Especially given the unseasonably cold weather we’ve been having in Vancouver and besides, February is still winter! Someone needs to have a talk with this woodpecker – get him straightened out on when spring actually starts – which isn’t until this weekend actually – so technically, he shouldn’t even be here.
And while we’re at it – someone please teach him the difference between a house and a tree. My house, with the four front pillars wrapped in reclaimed rough-hewn cider siding, is NOT a tree. The forest of deciduous and coniferous trees which surround the house ARE trees. So many trees for Mr. Woodpecker to choose….and yet he still prefers my house. Specifically, the metal gas chimney on the roof which produces such a nice, LOUD, reverberating mating call so early in the morning and the four, now pock-holed pillars in the front.
I am trying to view this as an opportunity to practice forgiveness and compassion. Woody is merely engaging in his seasonal song of finding a wife and to him my house is a ready-made orchestra of instruments. I admire his persistence, I would just rather it not produce so many holes.
I’ve used an entire roll of tinfoil. Stuffing it into the already huge holes and wrapping entire pillars until it looks like we’re getting ready to defend ourselves against an imminent alien invasion. To no avail. The next morning I find bits and pieces of shiny foil nestled amongst the hydrangea, blown across the road and into the ditch.
So I send out little prayers that my woodpecker friend soon finds himself a mate and they move into a nice refurbished neighbourhood tree. In the meantime I’m becoming crafty and making shattered mirror mosaics to hang on my front porch pillars.