My grandparents’ house in Stanwood is a cedar A-frame, with a great glass wall that looks out onto the woods. The last time I was home, over Christmas , I sat in front of the window one morning with a cup of coffee. The snow was high and heavy, up to your knees, weighing down tree branches. My grandparents feed everything that lives in the woods, special meals for finches, cardinals and squirrels. There’s a heated bird bath, or two. I sat on the carpet and watched.The red squirrels and black squirrels were jousting for turf and a corncob, Jets and Sharks in tiny fur coats. The finches beeped about the bird bath with the lady cardinal. A doe came in, high-stepping her way through the yard, then another, then another three. I may’ve imagined a rabbit or two. A good-sized woodpecker came in and hung on the suet, pecking out a meal. “Nana, the woodpecker’s here!” I shouted. “Well, the peleated should be through in a few minutes,” she said. I watched it all. I imagined a guy in headphones off to the side whispering, “Cue black squirrels. Cue doe 2, doe 3 ...”
And then, as if on cue, with an enormous whoosh, in came the peleated woodpecker. Easily as big as a raccoon, he landed on the suet cage and all the other animals got quiet and sort of pulled back into themselves and held their breath. He was huge and prehistoric looking, and strong with a fierce red head. He hung on with his massive claws and dove his beak into the suet, over and over, with force and intent. Then he paused, took off. And all the animals resumed their pecking, and hopping, and scurrying.
Stanwood is a wonderful place. Welcome.
