“What’s that sound?”
I asked of him as he finished his homework, packing it away into his heavy backpack.
Said Jeff as he laced his sneakers.
“That noise, like a trill. Do you hear it? Sure is a racket! Where is it coming from? Turn the music down so we’ll hear the direction of it better.” Said I.
“Oh, yeah. I do hear it. It sounds like it’s coming from the chimney.” Jeff replied halfway out the door.
“You’re right, It does sound like that, but we don’t have a chimney.”
“Yes we do, Mom. It’s right there over the fireplace.”
“Oh, you’re right again. It’s actually a fake chimney, but let’s not squabble over semantics. Anyway, that crazy trill can’t possibly be coming from our fake chimney. It doesn’t connect to the inside of the house.
Let’s go have a look around to see if we can figure out where it’s coming from and what it is.” My still perplexed response.
We looked and listened everywhere, in every room, closet, cubby, nook and crannie. Nothing. Not a trill to be found. No trace of the source of it inside the house.
Hmmph! Still the trill!
In this I found no thrill.
I’ve got it! Let’s go look outside.
Great idea, even though the sound is clearly coming from the inside of the house.
We went outdoors. The trill ceased. We had a look around under bushes, around the car, in the trees. Nothing. No source of the trill maker. Then, just as we headed back indoors, out of the blue, a sharp, possesive trill sounded to the North. From the far North. From the rooftop, in fact.
We looked up and there he was. The Trill Maker. A huge Red Crested Woodpecker. Sounding out his foreboding territorial trill for all to heed. It mattered not to him that he was busily engaged trilling/drilling away at the copper chimney cap we’d had installed to keep trusting critters at bay.
It was a crazy sight, to see that bird pecking away at a copper chimney plate. Our mystery of where the sound was coming from had been solved. But why the bird would ever engage in such bizzare behavior is still something of a bewilderment. There were plenty of trees to be trilled, I mean drilled, for his lunch and dinner. The ground was certainly warm enough, so that if he were desperate enough, he could resort to eating earthworms.
But no, he chose to peck away with his trilling sound at our copper chimney cap. He continued with his chimney cap quest for several hours, into the evening before retiring to the woods, never to be heard from again. I don’t suppose he ever extracted a worm or an insect from the metal sheath. But on some small level I still have to respect him for his stalwart character. For his strong commitment to something that he believed was possible. He deserves my applause for his stubborn resolve to stick to it, to carry on despite what all conventional wisdom may say. Sure, we thought he’d flown over the cuckoo’s nest, and maybe his fellow feathered friends thought so too. But, how do I know for certain that he wasn t up there carving his name and those of his family into the copper plate? We never did go up there and check 😉
Some things in life are meant to remain a mystery.