the legend of woodpecker

Jumping mouse has courage, big heart and sharp eyes. But the grooviest one of all goes by the name of woodpecker.

Woodpecker was a small and graceful bird. Each afternoon, she cleared bark from a tree in order to eat the scarlet wippercaps that lived beneath. Because of her delicate claws, this was a long process. By the time she had fed, the sun had slipped behind the line of blue hills to the west. And when she got home, the moon was high into the sky, directly overhead the Gnarled, Leaping Pungee Forest.
In the mornings she was most content. She was an avid collector of all things red: butterfly wings from the forest floor, slivers of sunrise, blood flowers and very rarely, the eyelash of a drooping lilac bird. She could contentedly pass five or six hours in a slow combing of the forest’s canopy for such treasures. It was only after half the day had passed like this that she conceded hunger and began the monotonous process of peeling away bark.
It was during an unexceptional afternoon that she first caught sight of an unusual and exotic creature, a bird that seemed to hover suspended in midair like a cartoon or apparition. Woodpecker drew her face away from the tree on which she was perched and stared directly at the fascinating creature. He was the size of a ripe fir cone, speckled with brilliant blue patches and sharp of eye. What caught her attention above all was his habit of darting from place to place. Just when she had him in her sight, he would momentarily disappear, then reappear somewhere else. He seemed to have no wings, just a tiny sleek body, and a long sharp beak. Woodpecker cocked her head to one side and said the only thing she could think of:
“Are you a wizard? You float in the air and move faster than the Spring Winds.”
At this, the small bird shot eye to eye with Woodpecker and gave a broad smile.
“Why, my friend, have you truly never met one of my brothers and sisters? For
while we do move quickly, we are not shy creatures.”
“No, no”, responded Woodpecker, “I would surely remember having met one of
your kind. You are a new and strange bird. Tell me, what is your name?”
Here the small bird gave three soft chirps of delight and answered,
“Woodpecker, for that must be who you are with your fine red coat, I am
Hummingbird. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I have heard much of your
generous nature. Tell me, what are you doing, and what do you do? Why are you clawing that tree? Do tell.”
“Why,” replied woodpecker, “although it is dry and tedious work, claw I
must, for I live on the scarlet wippercaps that live just under this bark. I would much prefer, if the choice were mine, to spend my time in other, more fruitful, ways. For I have a great love of collecting all things red that shine.”
Hummingbird said nothing. The leaves on the forest floor tumbled amongst themselves, and the late afternoon sunlight skitted through the high branches and onto his sharp face. Suddenly, he shot straight up into the highest reaches of the forest canopy, then re-appeared upside down on Woodpecker’s left.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, staring into confused Woodpecker’s face. “I have been thinking, and I have decided something very important. For I too appreciate the importance of collecting beauty, though I have developed a fondness not for red, but for dew. Did you know that there is a great diversity in the realm of dew? Each season, each flower, and each time of day produces its own distinct flavour. A winter morning’s dew on an orchid’s petal is much more refined than that found on a summer’s evening. And an orchid’s flavour is completely unlike that of a dandelion.”
Here Hummingbird re-appeared at Woodpecker’s right ear: right-side up and wearing a serious expression.
“Have you always eaten wippercaps?”
“Yes,” replied Woodpecker, for she always had.
“Why?” asked Hummingbird.
To this Woodpecker had no immediate response.
“It’s what my parents did, and all the other woodpeckers I know eat them.”
Now Hummingbird did a sort of dance in the air in front of her and he whistled high and clear.
“So, you’ve never tried eating anything else, have you? Not seeds, or nuts, or
fern hearts, and certainly not winter morning’s locus dew, or you’d remember it straight away. How would you feel about trying something new this afternoon, something that you’ve never, ever tried before.”
Woodpecker simply stared with her face cocked to one side. Her feathers rustled and she blinked twice. Hummingbird’s intrusion into the afternoon had distracted her. The mention of food reminded her of her empty belly.
“Well,” she said timidly, “as I say, I’ve never tried any of those things. But I
might be convinced if you happen to have something with you.”
“Oh no,” replied Hummingbird, “never with me. The wonderful foods I
mentioned are scattered freely throughout the forest: some on branches, some under logs, and some in the places in between. There is no need to carry anything around with me… You look healthy. Surely you have the energy to come on a small adventure. Look, the sun is still high above us. Where shall we go first? Let’s see. The velvet lichen tears are fantastic this fall, and there happens to be a fine assortment just down the way, past the Smooth Pebble Beds, close to Grandfather Lightning Stump. Come!”
And with that, he was gone. Woodpecker blinked twice more & pulled her wings over her ears, but she did not move. For she had no idea where Hummingbird was. He was simply too fast. Then to the left, she heard his voice.
“Over here! Surely you know where the Smooth Pebble Beds lie!”
And with a long inhale of lazy white air, Woodpecker took flight and headed towards the voice. It wasn’t far to the pebble beds, and when she arrived, she found Hummingbird resting on a large stone in midstream.
“There are some lovely thistles just over there, but you don’t seem like much of a
thistle-eater. No, we’d best continue on to the velvet lichen tears. They’re very close.”
Once more he was gone. But this time, Woodpecker didn’t wait for encouragement. She knew where Grandfather Lightening Stump lived. Without delay, she swung to the left and surfed a gentle breeze through the Elm Tunnel, past the sleeping raspberries, until there it was, the oldest stump in the forest. And to its left grew a thick patch of fresh velvet lichens with Hummingbird dozing in their midst. Woodpecker settled onto the soft ground and nudged him with her brow.
“Well, here I am. What do we do? I’ve never eaten lichen dew before. Do we
eat their petals? My grandmother warned me not to eat the colour purple, and though these lichens seem more like blue, I’d rather be sure.”
Hummingbird didn’t respond. He slowly opened his eyes and thoughtfully rolled his neck from side to side. And then he did the strangest thing. He looked Woodpecker straight in the eye, winked, and then plunged his entire head into the nearest nectar cup. Woodpecker watched for several moments, then asked,
“Can woodpeckers do that sort of thing?”
But Hummingbird was oblivious to her words. In fact, his head was so completely enveloped within a succulent lichen that he could not hear her at all.

Woodpecker sat still for a moment. She sniffed the air and she listened to her belly. Then cautiously and very slowly, she sidled up towards a medium-sized lilac. It had six petals, each of which tapered out from a central base. Rising up in their midst was an impossibly slender tendril, deep black with three beads of dew clinging to its crown. She looked once again at Hummingbird, whose head was still invisible, and then she lowered her beak. A bitter scent rose to meet her and she paused. She could not reach the beads with her tongue as woodpeckers are not made for such things: their beaks are much too long. With all her courage, she snapped down upon the stigma, and immediately squawked and fell backwards onto the ground
“That’s not food! It’s horrible!” she wailed.
She tucked her head under her wing and began to rock back and forth. At the sound of this commotion, Hummingbird pulled his head out into the open and shot to her side. He rubbed her back with his brow, then said,
“Not for woodpeckers.... Who would have thought that woodpeckers don’t like
velvet lichen tears? And a bunch as fine as these.”
He lay flat on his back and stared up past the highest branches in the forest. He was silent. The only sounds in the clearing were the gentle weeping of tired and hungry Woodpecker, and the high whisperings of the elms.
Just at that moment, a silver mushroom decided to drink from the creek. It walked directly between the two birds, rotting footsteps silent over the wet earth. But just short of the creek, it stumbled over a dried apple seed and crunched to a halt. Hummingbird’s ears caught the sound. He rolled to his feet and nudged Woodpecker in the ribs.
“One more try. One more try. I’ll find you something to lend your belly
warmth.”
Woodpecker raised her head slightly and looked into Hummingbird’s eyes.
“Nothing bitter. Promise.”
Hummingbird shot to his feet and motioned towards the mushroom, which was running quickly now, silver cap leaning hard forward.
“Try that. A silver mushroom. I promise you’ll never go back to clawing through
rough bark again. Be quick. They move faster then they look.”
Woodpecker hesitated for only a moment, then lunged forward. But the mushroom saw her coming and veered left with amazing speed. Woodpecker struck the dirt hard and lodged a puff of dust up into the air. She missed once more by a wing’s length before the mushroom disappeared beneath a decayed branch. However, she had gotten close enough to catch its smell.

“What a wonderful scent: round and heavy.”
Hummingbird rose into the air and settled onto the back of her neck.
“Those are wonderful. No doubt about that, but I think they may be a
little too fast for you. There’s something else that tastes similar, even sweeter at times. They live in hollow trees. A very sleepy creature and much slower. I’m sure you’d have no difficulty catching one.”
Woodpecker flapped her wings and glided over to a nearby cedar. She sniffed its roots, then its trunk, and then stared intently into its highest branches. She turned back to Hummingbird, who was hovering at her left ear.
“They don’t live outside. They’re inside these trees, and deeper in than the
food you’re used to. But don’t worry. I have an idea.”
He settled down onto the nearest branch.
“Tell me, Woodpecker. Have you ever considered using your beak for more than
simply talking? Your claws are certainly beautiful but they’re just not sharp enough to get through this sticky cedar bark.”
Woodpecker looked down at her claws, then opened and closed her beak several times. She had always been rather shy about her beak: it was, in her opinion, too long and rough looking. She looked out past Hummingbird and pretended to see something interesting back by the lilac beds.
“There’s no need to feel uncomfortable about something as fine as your beak,”
said Hummingbird. “In fact, I believe you are not fully aware of just how wonderful beaks can be when used wisely. Will you trust me one more time? There is something I can teach you if you’re willing to listen.”
Woodpecker nodded once and looked back at the tiny bird. Hummingbird grinned a wide grin and asked,
“Have you ever heard of the Humming Drums?”
“No.”
“Neither have I. Well, I have heard of them. But only woodpeckers can actually
hear the Humming Drums. Hummingbirds such as myself are gifted with a fine sense of rhythm; our dancing is famous throughout the northern forests. But we simply cannot hear what you can. Once you learn the potential of your fabulous beak, you’ll dine on delicacies forevermore. It won’t be easy,” he warned. “Before you learn to hear the Humming Drums, you will grow very hungry and very tired. You may want to give up. Can you accept such difficulty Woodpecker?”
She sat on the damp grass, and looked up into the tops of the trees. A thick cloud rolled over their heads. She turned back to Hummingbird.
“Listen carefully. There is a magical stone a half-day’s flight from here.
I can guide you to it. If you spend five days and five nights upon the stone you will learn its magic. I cannot stay with you. You must be alone. During that time, you must not open your eyes. Deep within you are the Humming Drums. If you maintain silence, they will grow louder and louder until they gradually bleed into your waking thoughts.”
He smiled gently, then closed his eyes and rolled into a ball at Woodpecker’s side.
“Tonight, sleep soundly for tomorrow is an important day.”
Woodpecker pressed her wing against his back. As she fell into sleep, the stars flashed in and out of the high branches.

Before daylight crept into the clearing, the two were wakened by the songs of Bluejay: a sad and buttery melody of lost treasures and midnight dances. Hummingbird arched his shoulders behind his neck, called back a soft song, then took to the air in a flash of blue. Woodpecker took a deep inhale of sharp morning air, then leapt up behind him into the grey light. This time, Hummingbird stayed at her side, and they flew wing to wing until the sun was high overhead. They past the Trickly Scrub Pines and the Salaal Emporium. They skirted along the forest’s edge where purple grasslands stretched out for miles and miles. And they dropped into Marigold Gully, where, years before, the flowers had risen up against the Badger Clan and claimed the Crystal Pools for their own. In the deepest folds of this chasm, they finally came to the magical stone of Gnarled Forest.

It was much smaller then Woodpecker had imagined, and layered in a thick variety of multi-coloured lichens. All around it grew twisted vines that crept up its sides and threatened to engulf it completely.
“Is this the stone?” she asked.
Hummingbird nodded and hovered over its centre.
“I will return in five days. Rest on this stone. You will be amazed by what it will show you.”
Then suddenly, she was alone, in a part of the forest that was strange and unknown. But though she was tired, a great excitement beat in her chest.
“Stone. You are my bed and home.”
And with these words, she settled onto its cold surface and closed her eyes.

Three days passed in gentle procession and Woodpecker found herself more and more aware of the tiny sounds and scrapes and screaks surrounding her. True to Hummingbird’s instruction, she kept her eyes closed night and day, and moved as little as possible. On the fourth morning, she first noticed a low buzzing in the air. She desired to look out, to see what caused the sound. But she fought the urge and concentrated solely on the sound itself. Throughout the morning, as the sun grew warmer, the buzzing grew slowly louder. But now that she could hear it more clearly, it seemed less a buzzing than a choir of soft voices. They droned together in perfect tone as if orchestrated by the Tunnel Wind itself. By sundown, she was sure that were she to open her eyes but one crack, she would see a vast congregation of leprechauns all about her.
For the first time in four days, sleep did not tempt her as the moon’s soft and milky beams kissed her face. For she imagined something wonderful growing out of the layers of voices. She could hear the accents of individual heartbeats within the chorus. There was no order or pattern, but each pulse was clear and distinct.
On the morning of the fifth day, something remarkable happened. As the first branches of sunlight began to sparkle on her folded wings, the heartbeats within the song began to align. One by one, each joined the slowly growing pulse that beat directly through the centre of the song. Woodpecker had never experienced such a sound. She arched her spine against the stone, and stretched her legs as far out as she could. Soon there was only one beat, slow, but strong enough to make her eyelashes and feathers rattle.
All night she lay and listened to the beautiful song. It grew no louder, but sank deeper and deeper into her bones until they shook on every pulse. No other sound existed.



By this point, Woodpecker was utterly enveloped within the music. When Hummingbird drifted to her side and whispered,
“Good morning, friend,”
her eyes shot open without a thought. She immediately shut them tight again, for even the soft light of morning seemed sharp. Only after several moments did she open one just wide enough to see.
“Hummingbird. The most wonderful thing happened to me while you were
away.”
She looked to her left, her right, in front and behind. And her eyes opened wide now, for the music was still as loud as before but there was no sight of any choir or orchestra.
“Can you hear? What is making that wonderful noise? I want to thank whoever it
is. Whatever creature is gifted with such a fine voice?”
Hummingbird smiled one of his great, broad smiles.
“The creature that makes such beautiful music, Woodpecker, is you. You have
learned to hear the Humming Drums.”
Woodpecker opened her mouth then shut it and looked behind herself once again.
“I make this music? But I have never sung such a fine song.”
“The Humming Drums were a gift to all woodpeckers long ago. All of
you may hear this music. All you must do is give it a chance to rise up above your day to day thoughts… Do you remember, I spoke earlier of your fine and skilful beak?”
Woodpecker nodded.
“It is time for a feast worthy of this occasion.”
He gestured to his right, then took to the air. Woodpecker fumbled over the stone and landed in the ancient vines.
“Come, come. You’ll soon have your strength back,” called Hummingbird.
She untangled her claws from the grasping vines, then leapt upwards. Though stiff from lack of use, her wings were very pleased to be air-borne once again. They carried her up and out of the gully, into a fresh mist that spoke of maple and rust. On the ridge grew a young cedar. She settled next to Hummingbird on one of its branches, and he motioned towards the trunk.
“You'll find especially tasty caterpillars in a tree this young; it's a fine place to practice. Relax. Now roll your head from side to side. Excellent. Now, here is the fun part. Close your eyes and concentrate on the song you hear. Imagine that you are back on Magic Stone with not a thought weighing on your mind.”
Woodpecker closed her eyes and swayed her head from left to right, until it seemed she might topple from the branch. Hummingbird held his breath for a moment, then whispered in her ear,
“Follow the Humming Drums, my friend. Listen to their rhythm. Now join in.
Strike the tree-trunk with your beak.”
Woodpecker didn’t hesitate. She struck the bark twice and glanced off both times. But on the third attack, her beak sunk neatly into the wood and slid deep into its soft underbelly. Her eyes opened in surprise. She sat perfectly still, her beak fully lodged within the tree, and her eyes less than a feather’s width from its trunk.
Hummingbird laughed out loud and called to Raven and Bluejay.
“Feathered friends of the forest, come and see what our sister Woodpecker has
learned! She has heard the Humming Drums!”
By the time the other birds arrived, Woodpecker had freed her beak, and had in fact caught three plump caterpillars. She sat proudly at Hummingbird’s side.
From that day on, she never used her claws to strip bark again. And she learned that, true to Hummingbird’s word, she did much prefer the taste of caterpillars rather than wippercaps. In time, she learned to hunt all the wonderful varieties in even the thickest trees in the Gnarled Forest. True, the older trees demanded patience, but as long as she followed the inner music, no bark was too thick. So next time you find yourself in Woodpecker’s forest, pay attention to even the smallest sounds. You just might hear her playing along with the Humming Drums.