Melodious Drummer

I was sitting in the outdoor tub, enveloped by the quiet night, waiting to listen to the next interesting sound that sauntered my way. Dusk was descending. I was not able to see much detail anymore, but still able to hear numerous aural particulars. I was drifting along with the flow of mundane events.

A sound came to me: the drumming of a woodpecker. But this one was no pedestrian drummer. He was a virtuoso. A woodpecker’s usual drumming sound is loud and repetitive—emanating from a hollow tree branch that he has claimed as his very own. It rings out through the forest, as if the bird has proudly discovered a wonderful new drum to beat on; sending his exuberant message to all, but especially to any receptive female woodpeckers who may be within hearing distance.

Woodpeckers come in several flavors around here: downy, hairy, red-bellied, and pileated—from small to large. In addition to being garish drummers, they are also garish in their appearance. They flaunt their contrasting black and white apparel, like a teenage boy dressed up for the prom. Their woodpecker tuxedo is often set off with a brilliant red patch on either their head or shoulders.

A woodpecker’s bill is long and chisel-shaped; it is backed by strong neck muscles, that allow them to bash into tree bark, seeking hidden bugs beneath. To keep them from becoming addled by brain damage as they bang away, their brain is encased in a fluid shock absorber.

Their vocal calls are of three types: expressing alarm, attracting a mate, or declaring territory. Their drumming calls are primarily for similar communication—either to attract a mate or to proclaim their domain. When they excavate for bugs, they slowly, much more quietly and erratically bang away on a tree branch; but when mate-seeking drumming, their rate is far more rapid—sounding like a toy machine gun.

It’s not easy to discern which species is drumming, when I listen to them—but the big pileated woodpecker sounds big, while the little downy raps much more demurely. Although I couldn’t see the drummer on this night, I was guessing that he was a medium sized hairy woodpecker.

The usual woodpecker drumming sound is a loud rapping of 10-15 beats, way off in the woods, where the bird has found himself an echoey, hollow branch. That beat will get repeated, with the same resonant tapping, every minute or so. You can admire him as you listen, proudly announcing that he’s found himself a great percussion instrument to rap on and show off his skills.

The drumming of this guy, however, was not always repeated the same way. Although his rapping rate was quite constant, he’d bash away just once or twice, and then he’d fall silent for a bit. When he started up again, the tone of his drumming would quite different… not at all repetitive. He’d tap for a few times on what sounded like a hard spot on the limb. Then he’d switch to a dry-sounding spot, sort of like a dead wood area. Then he’d drum with a hollow, resonant sound that rang out, almost bell-like. I listened to him moving back and forth between these three locations, as if he was seeking the best sound to woo the ladies with.

I pictured in my mind a jazz drummer or an orchestral percussionist—tapping on one surface after another, making fascinating, melodic sounds, seeking just the right tonal quality. It was as if this bird was experimenting—exploring for the location that pleased him (or her) the most. I enjoyed his musical concert. I liked the variation in sounds, although I suspected that the hollow-limb sound traveled farther in the woods, and thus was more likely to reach a listening lady woodpecker. I wondered if she was enjoying the concert as much as I was, picking up on the different intonations. Maybe she was just a tone-deaf lady woodpecker, but still receptive enough to respond to his artistic drumming.

Garden Spider

Can you note the eight eyes? Click to enlarge.

Nipping Nuisances—Part 2

Repellent sprays do little to discourage these biting flies. Dark clothing attracts them, as well as the smell of the carbon dioxide you exhale. (I wonder if it’s the CO₂ or the halitosis?) Movement attracts them. I’ve not yet tried to wear white clothes, stand utterly still, and hold my breath as a defense. Somehow that seems like offering them a very inviting target.

I read on the internet that my best defense is to jump around and madly swipe at them with something. That’s much more my natural inclination—in fact, I can’t seem to stop myself from going into a manic state of ducking and leaping, when I hear one of these buggers buzzing around my head. When I do, I at least have a fair chance of driving one of them away and a tiny chance of triumphantly whacking one out of midair. That’s an occasion for a celebration! Stop whatever I’m doing and go inside and open up a beer!

A distant cousin to the horsefly and deerfly is the blackfly—native to lands north of here. They are really nasty! I once drove into a parking lot in a remote provincial park in Canada in the month of May, stepped out of the car, and was immediately attacked by a killer squadron of blackflies. Their fierce attack distracted me enough that on one of my wild swings at them, I slammed the car door closed—locking the keys inside. Their attack only increased, now that they had me on the ropes. Painful bites ensued and blood began to stream down my neck.

I was miles from any locksmith. Desperation came over me. Quickly sizing up my predicament (much faster than otherwise, thanks to the attackers), I grabbed a rock and smashed a small side window—gaining reentry and escaping blackfly hell. I fled down the road, leaving the hungry beasts in my wake.

Returning home to Virginia a day later, I was devastated to learn that replacing that wee side window would come at an unbelievable cost of $600! I was devastated to find out that replacing the whole bloody windshield would have cost less. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hugely expensive lesson delivered by such a small pest.

Tomato Hornworm

Note the red horn on it butt end. The tiny circles on its side are spiracles, through which the worm literally breathes, bringing air directly to its body. Left click to enlarge.

Parasitized Tomato Hornworm

The white cocoons are eggs of a parasite wasp, slowly killing the worm. This one was found next to the healthy one above.

Nipping Nuisances—Part 1

I have learned to be tolerant of and even respect a critter here and there, who I once considered to be nothing but a pest around the homestead. So I don’t indiscriminately retaliate with the lethal weapons against them as I once did. For example, I previously used chemical sprays to kill off many garden looters, but now have learned to repel most of them with a natural product. We have also learned to live with some critters we once would have willingly sent to their deaths, when we have come to learn that they are causing no significant harm. The key has been to learn enough about their habits to keep their populations in check.

That said, I still have a few pests that I do not hesitate to kill. (OK, I still have some work to do on my nonviolence practice.) Mosquitoes, ticks, and horseflies top my extermination list. When one comes buzzing around me or is crawling up my leg, I’m gonna assume that it is trying to claim some of my blood (and possibly inject a nasty bacterium in me), and have no guilty feelings about dispatching it.

Horseflies (and their close cousins, deerflies) deliver a painful bite. As with mosquitoes, only the female horsefly bites, because she needs some mammalian blood to nurture her eggs. (That’s yet another reason to stop her: no blood, no biting babies.) The horsefly has razor-like mandibles with which she slices into your flesh, injecting a little anti-coagulant, to keep the blood flowing, so she can take a quick sip and flee, before getting swatted.

Sometimes a group of horseflies or deerflies will swoop around my head—flying at warp speed. I can hear them, and occasionally spot one out of the corner of my eye, but they move so fast that they can’t be tracked by us sluggish humans. It can feel like I’ve been transported into some bizarre Star Wars scenario, with tiny alien space ships zinging about me in a coordinated attack.

The horsefly knows she’s nearly uncatchable, because she moves fast, so she maddeningly buzzes within inches of your head, causing you to spin about, in a fruitless attempt to shoot her down. After she forces you into a frantic state of mind where you can’t tell where she is, she silently slips up from behind and gently lands on your shoulder or neck. An instant later you feel the painful zap. She has drawn blood—even through your clothing. Like tiny stealth drones, you’ve been nailed before you can put up a defense.

Horseflies are up to an inch long (that’s a big blood sucker!). Deerflies, which may reach half an inch, are less intimidating to see, but are sneakier. There are over a hundred sub species of these nasty little beasts—some with fascinating names such as breeze flies, clegs, gadflies, zimbs, and bulldog flies. (That last one seems like an endearing name.) Barnyard animals can sometimes become weak from loss of blood, if repeatedly bit by a swarm of these nuisances. My dog goes berserk when a horsefly comes within 20 feet of him.

More on biting flies next time…

Lovely Mushrooms on Dead Tree Stump