The Red-headed Woodpecker 87 



in SDine localities thai, like the }z;t"ay squirrels, the birds are common in ^ood 

 beechnut winters and absent in others. Cold and snow do not trouble them, if 

 they have plenty to cat, for, as Major Bendire says, many of them "winter along 

 our northern border, in certain years, when they can find, an abundant supply of 

 food." In fact, in the {Greater part of the eastern states the Redhead is "a rather 

 regular resident," but in the western part of its range "it appears to migrate 

 pretty regularly," so that it is rare to see one "north of latitude 40°, in winter." 

 The western boundary of the Redhead's range is the Rocky Mountains, but 

 east of the mountains it breeds from Manitoba and northern New York south 

 to the Gulf of Mexico; though it is a rare bird in eastern New England. 



In sections where this erratic Woodpecker migrates, it leaves 

 Migration its nesting-grounds early in October, and returns the latter part 



of April or the beginning of May. Before too much taken up with 

 the serious business of life, the Redhead goes gaily about, as Major Bendire 

 says, "frolicking and playing hide-and-seek with its mate, and when not so 

 engaged, amusing itself by drumming on some resonant dead I'mb, or on the 

 roof and sides of houses, barns, etc. " For, though like other drummers, the Wood- 

 peckers are not found in the front ranks of the orchestra, they beat a royal tattoo 

 that may well express many fine feelings. 



When the musical spring holiday is over and the birds have chosen a tree 

 for the nest, they hew out a pocket in a trunk or branch, anywhere from eight 

 to eighty feet from the ground. When the young hatch, there comes a happy 

 day for the looker-on who, by kind intent and unobtrusive way, has earned the 

 right to watch the lovely birds flying back and forth, caring for their brood. 



And then, at last, come the days when the gray-headed young- 

 Nest sters, from hanging out of the window, boldly open their wings 

 and launch into the air. Anxious times these are for old birds, — 

 times when the watcher's admiration may be roused by heroic deeds of parental 

 love; for many a parent bird fairly flaunts in the face of the enemy, as if trying 

 to say, "Kill me; spare my young I" 



One family of Redheads once gave me a delightful three weeks. When 

 the old birds were first discovered, one was on a stub in a meadow. When 

 joined by its mate, as the farmer was coming with oxen and hayrack to take up 

 the rows of haycocks that led down the field, the pair flew slowly ahead along a 

 line of locusts, pecking quietly at the bark of each tree before flying on. At 

 the foot of the meadow they flew over to a small grove in the adjoining pasture. 



As it was July, it was easy to draw conclusions. And when I went to the 

 grove to investigate, the jjair were so much alarmed that they at once corrob- 

 orated my conclusions. Did I mean harm? Why had I come? One of them 

 leaned far down across a dead limb and inspected me, rattling and bowing 

 nervously; the other stationed itself on the back of a branch over which it peered 

 at me with one eye. Both of them cried krit'-tar-rah every time I ventured to 

 take a step. As they positively would not commit themselves as to which one 



