woodpeckers - RVing with Rex

Learning to Speak Bird: The Language of Woodpecker Drumming

Learn to recognize five familiar North American woodpeckers by their drumming and calls, and discover what their distinctive sounds reveal about bird communication.

“I love woodpeckers—they’re so specialized and focused on their work.”

My daughter Sandy said that after watching these remarkable birds and I think she captured something that makes woodpeckers endlessly fascinating. They are specialists in every sense of the word. Their bills, claws, tongues, and behaviors are all perfectly adapted to the life they lead.

In the first article of this two-part series, we learned to notice woodpeckers—their colors, patterns, movements, and the remarkable adaptations that make each species unique.

This time, we’re going to discover another part of their story.

We’re going to listen.

Long before many woodpeckers reveal themselves, they announce their presence with sounds that echo through forests, parks, and neighborhoods.

A rhythm.

A pattern.

A voice.

To many people, it sounds like random tapping echoing through the trees. But woodpecker drumming is anything but random. Every burst of sound has a purpose—claiming territory, attracting a mate, or communicating with another woodpecker.

Like spoken languages, each species has its own rhythm and voice. The more time you spend listening, the more those differences begin to stand out. What once sounded like noise becomes something altogether different.

It becomes a language.

The quick, rhythmic tapping of a Ladder-backed Woodpecker blends into the thornscrub, rewarding those who slow down enough to listen. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Every drumbeat has a purpose

Every rhythm carries a message for those willing to listen

At first, woodpecker drumming can sound like nothing more than random tapping echoing through the trees. But once you begin to understand what you’re hearing, those sharp bursts of sound take on an entirely different meaning.

Woodpeckers don’t drum to make noise. They drum to communicate.

A rapid burst of drumming may be a male announcing that a territory is already claimed. Another rhythm may be part of attracting a mate. Sometimes it’s simply one woodpecker letting another know exactly where it is. Unlike songbirds that rely primarily on vocal calls, woodpeckers have turned drumming into another language.

Not all drumming sounds the same. Some species produce a quick, rapid-fire roll, while others drum more slowly or with a different cadence. Just as each species has its own markings and behavior, each has its own rhythm.

One of the things that surprised me most was discovering that woodpeckers aren’t always looking for food when they drum. A bird searching for insects pecks differently than one sending a message. When they’re communicating, they’re often looking for the loudest stage they can find.

That’s why you may hear a woodpecker drumming on a hollow tree, a fence post, a utility pole, or even the metal flashing on a chimney. To us it may sound like an odd choice. To the woodpecker, it’s simply the best way to make sure the message carries.

The longer I spend watching birds, the more I realize that learning to speak bird isn’t just about recognizing feathers and field marks. It’s about learning to recognize voices, rhythms, and the hidden conversations taking place all around us.

Before long, what once sounded like random tapping becomes something much more familiar.

It becomes a language.

The rapid drumming of a Red-headed Woodpecker echoes through the forest, announcing its presence before its brilliant red head comes into view. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Red-headed Woodpecker: A voice as striking as its appearance

The voice behind the flash of red

The first time I encountered a Red-headed Woodpecker, it was the sound that drew me in.

Following the drumming through a forest in central Alberta, I eventually spotted a flash of brilliant red moving among the trees. Clinging to the trunk was a Red-headed Woodpecker, one of North America’s most striking and memorable birds.

At the time, I was focused on what I could see—the bold red head, the black-and-white pattern of its feathers, and the confidence of a bird that seemed impossible to miss.

But the sound was telling its own story.

The Red-headed Woodpecker’s voice is just as distinctive as its appearance. Its loud churr-churr and rolling yarrow-yarrow-yarrow calls carry through the forest, often revealing its presence before the bird comes into view. Like its drumming, these calls are part of how it communicates with others and announces its place in the landscape.

Learning to recognize that sound changes the experience. A walk through the woods is no longer just a search for a bird perched in a tree. It becomes a search for the voice that introduced itself first.

The soft, rapid tapping of a Ladder-backed Woodpecker can be easy to miss, making its quiet drumming another reason to slow down and listen. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Ladder-backed Woodpecker: The quiet specialist of thornscrub

The quiet specialist of thornscrub

In the thornscrub of the Rio Grande Valley, life can appear hidden at first glance. The landscape is dry, dense, and filled with plants adapted to survive with limited water. But slow down and pay attention, and the quiet places begin to reveal their secrets.

That is where I spotted a Ladder-backed Woodpecker, carefully working its way along a tree trunk.

In my first encounter, I noticed the bird’s remarkable markings and the way it moved through a landscape that many people might pass by without a second look. But learning its voice revealed another way to find this small specialist of the thornscrub.

The Ladder-backed Woodpecker’s call is not as dramatic as some of its larger relatives. A sharp pik note, sometimes compared to the call of a Downy Woodpecker, can easily disappear among the sounds of the desert. It may also give a descending whinny that carries through the brush.

But that is part of what makes learning bird language so rewarding. Not every bird announces itself with a loud call or a powerful drum. Some require patience. Some require listening closely.

The more familiar we become with their voices, the more we realize that even the quietest landscapes are filled with conversations waiting to be heard.

The loud, rolling drumming of a Golden-fronted Woodpecker carries through the Texas brush, making its presence known long before the bird comes into view. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Golden-fronted Woodpecker: The voice of the thornscrub

The bird that always had something to say

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker rarely arrived quietly.

While exploring the dry brushlands and shady bosques near the Rio Grande in south Texas, I often heard these woodpeckers before spotting them. Their loud calls announced their presence long before I caught sight of the flashes of gold and red moving through the trees.

Some birds seem to blend into their surroundings and wait to be discovered. The Golden-fronted Woodpecker seems to take the opposite approach. It lets you know it is nearby.

Its voice is hard to miss—a loud, rolling churrrr or a burry chuck-chuck-chuck that carries through the landscape. Once you learn that sound, the bird becomes easier to find, even when branches and foliage hide the colorful markings that make it so memorable.

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker is a reminder that learning to speak bird is not only about recognizing a quiet call in the distance. Sometimes the lesson is learning to appreciate the birds that proudly introduce themselves.

The Gilded Flicker’s rapid, rolling drumming carries across the open Sonoran Desert, its rhythm echoing among the saguaros. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Gilded Flicker: The voice of the saguaro forest

Finding a home where few trees exist

The Sonoran Desert does not look like a place built for woodpeckers.

Yet among the towering saguaros and rugged desert landscape, one woodpecker has found a way to thrive. While camping at Usery Mountain Regional Park in Arizona, I was fortunate to spot a Gilded Flicker, a bird perfectly adapted to a landscape unlike any other.

In the first article, the Gilded Flicker introduced us to the remarkable relationship between a bird and its environment. The saguaro may not look like a traditional tree but for this woodpecker, it provides a home, shelter, and a place to raise young.

But the desert does not just reveal this bird through its bright markings and distinctive habitat. It also reveals it through sound.

The Gilded Flicker’s loud, repeated woika call carries across the open desert, sometimes followed by a series of sharp kee notes. In a landscape where sounds can travel across great distances, its voice becomes another way this woodpecker announces its presence.

The more time we spend listening, the more we realize that every landscape has its own soundtrack. In the Sonoran Desert, the voice of the Gilded Flicker has become part of the music of the saguaros.

The loud, distinctive drumming of an Acorn Woodpecker echoes through the forest, punctuated by its unmistakable calls as it announces itself to the entire family group. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Acorn Woodpecker: The sound of the acorn forest

The bird that turns trees into treasure chests

The first time I encountered an Acorn Woodpecker, I had to stop and wonder what I was seeing.

While camping in the Sierra Nevada, not far from Yosemite, I came across a bird unlike any woodpecker I had known. It was not simply searching for food—it was storing it.

The more I learned about the Acorn Woodpecker, the more fascinating it became. This clown-faced western woodpecker lives in small family groups and has developed one of the most unusual survival strategies in the bird world. Instead of hiding individual acorns, these birds create shared storage sites, carefully placing their winter food supply into thousands of small holes drilled into trees and other wooden surfaces.

But the Acorn Woodpecker’s story is not only written in the trees. It is also heard in the forest.

Its loud, distinctive ja-cob, ja-cob call—or what some describe as wake-up, wake-up—is one of the easiest woodpecker voices to recognize once you learn it. Unlike the quiet work of storing acorns, this bird has a voice that seems to announce the activity of the entire colony.

Listening to an Acorn Woodpecker is a reminder that every bird has its own personality. Some The Acorn Woodpecker does not simply live in the forest—it transforms the forest around it, leaving behind a story written in thousands of tiny holes.

The rhythmic drumming of a Golden Flicker echoes through the trees, announcing its presence with a steady tapping that carries across the landscape. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Every forest has a voice

Learning begins when we slow down enough to listen

The longer I watch birds, the more I realize that seeing is only part of the experience. Learning to speak bird also means learning to listen.

Sometimes the forest reveals its stories through a flash of color. Other times, those stories begin with a rhythm echoing through the trees or a familiar call drifting through the branches. Either way, the lesson is the same: slow down, pay attention, and let nature introduce itself.

Every woodpecker has its own voice. Some announce themselves with loud, unmistakable calls. Others communicate through rapid drumming that carries across the landscape. Some require patience to hear at all. But each reminds us that nature is constantly communicating with those willing to listen.

The next time you hear a woodpecker tapping somewhere beyond the trail, resist the urge to simply look for the bird. Pause for a moment. Listen to the rhythm. Wonder what message it might be sending. You may discover that what once sounded like random tapping has become something much more meaningful.

That is how we begin learning to speak bird.

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Editor’s note

This article was originally published in September 2026. Information reflects what was accurate at the time of writing. Conditions, access, and amenities may change over time, so please verify current details before planning your trip.

To maintain transparency and editorial independence, this website contains no ads, no sponsored content, and no affiliate links—just firsthand RV travel experiences and practical information for fellow travelers.

Learning to Speak Bird: What Woodpeckers Teach Us

Woodpeckers are more than birds that tap on trees. Discover what five remarkable species can teach us about focus, adaptation, preparation, cooperation, and paying attention to the natural world.

“I love woodpeckers—they’re so specialized and focused on their work.”

My daughter Sandy’s observation captures something I have always found fascinating about birds. They are teachers in plain sight, quietly showing us lessons about the natural world and, sometimes, about ourselves.

Few birds demonstrate that idea better than woodpeckers.

With their powerful bills, sharp claws, and ability to transform a simple tree trunk into a source of food and shelter, woodpeckers are perfectly adapted for the work they do. They remind us that success does not always come from being the biggest or fastest. Sometimes it comes from understanding your purpose and using the abilities you have been given.

Across North America, woodpeckers have found ways to thrive in forests, deserts, and open landscapes. Some cling to towering trees while others search for insects among dry washes or carve homes into giant saguaro cacti.

The more closely we watch them, the more we discover that these birds are not simply tapping on trees. They are solving problems, communicating, adapting, and creating a place for themselves in the world.

This is another lesson in learning to speak bird: every bird has a story if we slow down long enough to listen.

A Ladder-backed Woodpecker clings to a tree trunk, its distinctive black-and-white markings blending into the South Texas landscape. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What makes a woodpecker remarkable

Built for a life of purpose

Woodpeckers are easy to recognize but easy to underestimate.

The tapping sound coming from a tree may seem simple but behind that familiar rhythm is one of the most specialized groups of birds in North America. Everything about a woodpecker is designed for the work it does.

Their strong, chisel-shaped bills allow them to excavate wood in search of insects and create nesting cavities. Their specialized skull structure helps protect them from the repeated impact of striking trees. Their long tongues reach deep into crevices while their feet and stiff tail feathers help them cling securely to vertical surfaces.

A woodpecker is not simply hitting a tree. It is using a remarkable collection of adaptations that allow it to thrive in a very specific way.

Even their drumming tells a story. What sounds like random tapping to us is actually communication—a way to announce territory, attract a mate, and make their presence known. The forest is filled with conversations if we slow down enough to listen.

Woodpeckers also leave something behind. The cavities they create become homes for other birds and wildlife, making them important contributors to the ecosystems they inhabit.

Perhaps the greatest lesson woodpeckers teach us is the value of focus. They do not try to be everything. They have specialized tools, a clear purpose, and the ability to adapt to the landscapes around them.

The more closely we watch them, the more we discover that every tap has a story.

A striking Red-headed Woodpecker pauses on a tree trunk, its brilliant red head standing out against the forest. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Red-headed Woodpecker: A flash of red in the forest

The bird that refuses to be overlooked

I heard the drumming before I saw the bird.

Following the sound through a forest in central Alberta, I finally spotted a flash of brilliant red moving among the trees. Clinging to the trunk was a Red-headed Woodpecker, one of North America’s most striking and memorable birds.

Some birds disappear into their surroundings. This one does the opposite. With its crimson head, crisp white body, and bold black-and-white wings, the Red-headed Woodpecker seems almost impossible to miss.

But there is much more to this bird than its appearance.

Found in open woodlands, forest edges, and agricultural areas, the Red-headed Woodpecker is an active and adaptable hunter. It searches for insects, seeds, and nuts, and unlike many woodpeckers, it often catches insects in flight.

It is also a planner. When food is plentiful, these woodpeckers may cache acorns, beechnuts, and other food sources to use later. Behind the brilliant colors is a bird that understands preparation and survival.

Once one of the more common woodpeckers across North America, the Red-headed Woodpecker has declined in many areas and is now a less frequent sight. That makes moments like this one even more memorable.

The lesson from this woodpecker is simple: the things that catch our eye often have the deepest stories waiting to be discovered. A flash of red may get our attention but slowing down allows us to see the remarkable life behind it.

A Ladder-backed Woodpecker works its way along a tree trunk in the thornscrub of South Texas. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Ladder-backed Woodpecker: The quiet specialist of thornscrub

Finding opportunity in a challenging landscape

In the thornscrub of the Rio Grande Valley, life can appear hidden at first glance. The landscape is dry, dense, and filled with plants adapted to conserve every drop of moisture. But look a little closer and there is movement everywhere.

That is where I spotted a Ladder-backed Woodpecker, working its way along a tree trunk.

Unlike some of its larger relatives that depend on towering trees or giant cacti for nesting sites, the Ladder-backed Woodpecker has adapted to a different world. This small woodpecker makes a living among dry washes and scrubby vegetation, finding insects in places that other woodpeckers may overlook.

Its black-and-white pattern gives it a name that seems perfectly suited to the bird. The markings along its back resemble the rungs of a ladder, helping distinguish it from similar species such as the Nuttall’s Woodpecker.

The Ladder-backed Woodpecker is a reminder that thriving does not always require abundance. Sometimes survival comes from knowing how to use the opportunities available, even in places that may seem challenging to us.

In the thornscrub of southern Texas, this small woodpecker quietly goes about its work—proof that even the harshest landscapes are full of life for those willing to look closely.

A Golden-fronted Woodpecker adds a splash of gold and red to the thornscrub of South Texas. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Golden-fronted Woodpecker: A splash of gold in the thornscrub

The bird that always had something to say

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker rarely arrives quietly.

While exploring the dry brushlands and shady bosques near the Rio Grande in south Texas, I often heard these woodpeckers before spotting them. Their loud calls frequently announced their presence long before I caught sight of the flashes of gold and red moving through the trees.

They are handsome birds. Females wear a rich golden-yellow nape and lower belly while males add a golden forehead and brilliant red crown, making them among the most colorful woodpeckers in the region.

Like many birds of the borderlands, the Golden-fronted Woodpecker is adaptable. Rather than relying almost entirely on insects, it also feeds heavily on fruit and nuts, taking advantage of whatever the season provides. That flexibility has helped it thrive across the dry woodlands and river corridors of southern Texas and into Mexico.

Watching these birds, I was struck by more than their colors. They seemed full of confidence, calling frequently as they moved from tree to tree, as if making sure every bird nearby knew exactly where they were.

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker reminds us that nature rewards adaptability. Sometimes the key to thriving is not doing one thing perfectly but learning to make the most of every opportunity the landscape provides.

A Gilded Flicker in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert, perfectly adapted to life among the giant saguaros. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Gilded Flicker: The woodpecker of the saguaro forest

Finding a home where few trees exist

The Sonoran Desert does not look like a place built for woodpeckers.

At first glance, the Gilded Flicker may look familiar, resembling the more widespread Northern Flicker. But this desert specialist has its own story. Slightly smaller than its northern relative, it lacks the red patch found on the back of the Northern Flicker’s head and its golden underwings seem to glow when it takes flight.

What makes this bird especially remarkable is where it chooses to live. Rather than relying on traditional tree cavities, Gilded Flickers often carve nesting holes into giant saguaro cacti. In a landscape where large trees are scarce, the cactus becomes both shelter and home.

Like other flickers, the Gilded Flicker spends much of its time searching the ground for food, especially ants and other insects. It is a reminder that not every woodpecker spends its life hammering away at tree trunks.

The Gilded Flicker teaches us that adaptation is not always about surviving in spite of a landscape. Sometimes it is about discovering opportunities that others overlook.

In the Sonoran Desert where many visitors see only heat, rocks, and cactus, this remarkable woodpecker reveals a different story—one of creativity, resilience, and finding a place to belong.

An Acorn Woodpecker pauses among the trees, one of nature’s remarkable collectors and a master of storing food for later. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

Acorn Woodpecker: The forest’s great collector

The bird that turns trees into treasure chests

The first time I encountered an Acorn Woodpecker, I had to stop and wonder what I was seeing.

While camping in the Sierra Nevada, not far from Yosemite, I came across a bird unlike any woodpecker I had known. It was not simply searching for food—it was storing it.

The more I learned about the Acorn Woodpecker, the more fascinating it became.

This is a bird with a remarkable strategy for survival.

Each year, Acorn Woodpeckers collect thousands of acorns and carefully store them in specially created holes drilled into trees, fence posts, wooden structures, and almost any other suitable surface. These storage sites, known as granary trees, can contain thousands of individual holes and may be used by generations of woodpeckers.

At first glance, their behavior can almost seem like hoarding. But what appears unusual is actually a carefully planned system for surviving times when food is less available.

Years later, I encountered Acorn Woodpeckers again near Ramsey Canyon in southern Arizona, an area better known for its remarkable diversity of hummingbirds. Once again, these fascinating birds reminded me that every habitat has stories beyond the ones we expect to find.

Acorn Woodpeckers are also unusual because they live in family groups. Several adults may work together to raise young, sharing responsibilities that many birds handle alone.

Perhaps that is what makes this woodpecker so memorable. It teaches us that survival is not always about independence. Sometimes it is about preparation, cooperation, and understanding the value of working together.

The Acorn Woodpecker does not simply live in the forest—it transforms the forest around it, leaving behind a story written in thousands of tiny holes.

A Ladder-backed Woodpecker searches for food among the trees and thornscrub of South Texas. © Rex Vogel, all rights reserved

What woodpeckers teach us

Listening for the lessons hidden in the trees

The more time we spend watching woodpeckers, the more we realize they are much more than birds that tap on trees.

The Red-headed Woodpecker reminds us to notice what stands out. Its brilliant colors may capture our attention, but a closer look reveals a bird that is resourceful, adaptable, and constantly working to survive.

The Ladder-backed Woodpecker shows us that life can thrive in challenging places. Among the thornscrub of south Texas, this small woodpecker has found opportunities where others might see only a harsh landscape.

The Golden-fronted Woodpecker demonstrates the value of flexibility, making use of whatever the seasons provide.

The Gilded Flicker challenges our assumptions, proving that even a woodpecker can find a home in the unlikely setting of a giant saguaro.

And the Acorn Woodpecker may offer the greatest lesson of all. Its granary trees and cooperative family groups remind us that preparation and community have always been powerful tools for survival.

Perhaps that is why woodpeckers are such remarkable teachers. They do not rush. They know their purpose. They use the abilities they have been given and adapt to the world around them.

Learning to speak bird is not about memorizing every species or recognizing every sound. It is about becoming more aware of the stories unfolding around us.

The next time you hear a woodpecker drumming in the distance, take a moment to listen. That tapping is not just a sound. It is a conversation—a reminder that the natural world is always teaching us if we slow down enough to pay attention.

Enjoyed this article?

Share it with friends, fellow RVers, or your social network to inspire their next adventure.

Editor’s note

This article was originally published in August 2026. Information reflects what was accurate at the time of writing. Conditions, access, and amenities may change over time, so please verify current details before planning your trip.

Backyard Birds

Step outside and a hidden world comes to life—one filled with color, song, and quiet drama just beyond your door. In Backyard Birds, Sandra Vogel invites you to slow down and discover the beauty waiting in your own backyard.

Editor’s Note: As well as being my daughter, Sandra Vogel is a writer and former community newspaper editor. Also a nature lover and avid gardener, she spends as much time outdoors and in natural settings with her husband and two dogs as possible—including in the mountains near where she lives— enjoying camping, hiking, photography, native plant identification and motorcycling. When not outdoors, she also enjoys “upcycling”—turning unwanted clothing into wearable art. How does that sound? (Is “plant identification” a thing? I mean, is there a different term for it that’s somewhere between botanist and “plant-er” … which could be the vegetation equivalent of bird-er but probably isn’t?)

I’ll start this with a confession: My surname means bird in both German and Dutch but best not to think of me as a “birder,” at least not in the way most people use the term. I don’t check off birds I’ve seen on a master list, I don’t travel with the intention of seeking out a specific species and I can’t focus a pair of binoculars on a bird-like object high up in a tree to save my life.

You could confidently call me a nature watcher though. And birds, with their often colourful plumage and distinct voices, are typically one of the most obvious animals in a natural area. Plus, they often spend a lot of time in trees, which I love enthusiastically and will hug at random. (Though I’m not a tree hugger in the way most people use the term either.)

For the past 30 years, I’ve lived in two different valleys in southern British Columbia—first the Okanagan Valley and now the Creston Valley—both crucial to numerous migratory birds as they journey between their breeding grounds in western Canada and wintering areas in the US, Central and South America. This route, the Pacific Flyway, is one of four major migratory bird routes, stretching from the Arctic southward to Patagonia, Argentina and Chile.

As a result, we host plenty of visiting bird species such as the Tundra swan, Calliope hummingbird, and barn swallow. But there are also numerous full-timers thanks to our milder-than-is-typically-Canadian winters. Black capped chickadees, downy woodpeckers, nuthatches, ospreys, bald eagles, and wild turkeys are just a few of the bird species that stick around all year

As a result, I don’t have to travel far to see a plethora of different birds. In fact, since I live in the country with a backyard full of coniferous trees and keep a fully stocked bird feeder, I don’t even have to leave my yard.

So let’s start small from the back door and work our way up, shall we?

Purple finch *© Sandra Vogel, all rights reserved*

Calliope Hummingbird – tiniest bird, best living arrangement

Calliope hummingbirds are the smallest native bird species in North America and one of my favourites. Weighing in at just two or three grams—the merest fraction of an ounce—they can be remarkably feisty for their size, sometimes even chasing the larger Anna’s and Rufous off the feeders in spring. These tiny winged wonders and their Napoleon complexes arrive in late April, raise their young and head back to central or southwestern Mexico—a distance of over 2,000 miles—usually in late September. If that’s not the perfect living arrangement—not to mention and incredible journey for one so small—I don’t know what is!

But in the meantime, they’re frequent visitors to my hummingbird feeders. In fact, if I don’t have the feeders filled when they arrive, a scout will inevitably find me in the garden and hover right in front of my face in what I assume is an (almost) silent request for me to rectify the situation. The same thing happens if I accidentally let the feeders run dry.

But by mid-summer, the Calliopes seem to abandon the feeder to the larger hummingbirds and spend much of the day flying between the flowering marshmallow and comfrey plants in my medicinal herb garden and the mature spruce trees across the road. I’d wager there’s a tiny, well-hidden nest over there whose wee tenants are keeping their parents busy all day. You’ve got to respect a parent that chooses to raise young on natural food rather than fast food!

Once the young fledge, one of their first stops is the scarlet runner beans planted on the trellis that shades my back deck from the hot southern sunshine. For a week or two, I’ll regularly see a trainee Calliope trying to work out how to aim its long bill into a bright red flower that’s in constant motion thanks to a summer breeze.

Red Breasted Nuthatch

One of the prettiest tiny birds going with their striped black and white heads, grey-blue back, and tail feathers and rusty-orange bellies, red breasted nuthatches are busy, single-minded birds during breeding season. They’ll dart into the feeder in between the sparrows and chickadees, grab a seed and return to their nests dozens of times in a row.

As is the case with chickadees, I’m particularly keen to attract nuthatches because they also eat bugs. So we hang the feeders in the apple trees hoping they’ll help reduce the number of pests that prey on our crop.

Two years ago, a nuthatch built a nest in one of the apple trees. I discovered it while thinning the fruit. Despite my surprised face appearing about two feet away and right at eye level, she refused to leave the nest, giving me what I can only describe as “the beady eyeball.” I wished her and her family well and left her alone for the rest of the season. Hopefully she hatched a nest-full of equally active and attractive bug catchers!

Black-capped Chickadee

In sharp contrast to the serious and territorial Calliope hummingbirds and the single-minded nuthatches, black-capped chickadees are like happy-go-lucky United Nations ambassadors. I’ll often see these year-round residents dining at the feeder alongside nuthatches, sparrows, and purple finches. In fact, outside of breeding season, they often form foraging flocks with other species. At the feeder they’ll dive in to grab a seed and fly to the nearest branch to pry it open, frequently stopping work to air their familiar chick-a-dee-dee-dee call. They seem to spend more time playing—fluttering from branch to branch with their buddies and chatting—than actually getting down to the bird business of eating.

Though I’ve never managed to accomplish this because I’m hard pressed to stand still for long enough in my large garden, these are the birds you see eating out of people’s hands. They’re that friendly and not in the least shy. And there’s just something about them that makes you happy when you take the time to watch and listen to them.

Pine Siskin

These tiny seed seekers with their pretty yellow and brown striped plumage are frequent visitors. Once the young are introduced to the feeders, we often find them napping there among the seeds, head cocked to the side. In fact, sometimes they’re so sound asleep, we’re able to pet the top of a tiny head! Sound sleep doesn’t seem a viable survival strategy in a bird, yet there are pine siskin aplenty.

Downy Woodpecker

The smallest woodpecker in this area, the Downy woodpecker is perhaps the shiest birds to visit our yard. I love their colouring—white belly, black wings with white freckles and a small red prayer cap for the males—and how “downy” they are. It gives the mature birds a youthful, fresh-out-of-the-egg vibe.

These are the acrobats of the woodpecker family, though the entire species does seem to manage their fair share of feats of upside down dangling.

A particularly cuddly-looking little specimen frequents one of our old apple trees year-round, no doubt keeping its bark free from whatever tiny insects were hoping to reside there indefinitely. If it notices me noticing it, this little guy will take a few steps around the trunk and out of sight. I’ll circle around to get a better view—or, please, please, a decent photo—and it will again step to the side out of view. Apparently one of us doesn’t have a garden to weed and can do this all day!

Robin

Up until this year, I thought of robins as the harbinger of spring. But the robins hung around all through our mild winter, joining up into large flocks and consuming trees’ worth of berries despite how I’ve always thought of them as loners.

Between their oddly soldier-like wing position and their penchant for viewing the neighbourhood from the top of the tallest tree, a convenient fencepost, or one of our tall orchard sprinklers, robins are the sentinels of the bird community. And as the last to go silent in the evening, they’re obviously on duty until dark.

Robins build their untidy nests all around our property—from the eaves of the house to the maple trees out back. And once the young fledge, there are always several small squadrons of speckled sentinels-in-training patrolling the grass for insects. Their quick run then halt method of locating prey would distinguish them from other ground foraging birds even if their colouring didn’t.

Sharp-shinned Hawk

Early last spring a sharp-shinned hawk spent a half-hour or so in our backyard, likely hunting the small birds that frequent our feeder on its way to northern BC or Alaska for the summer. In a reversal of what we typically see with migratory birds, they over-winter here and leave us before the heat of summer.

At between nine and 13 inches in length, “sharpies” as they’re often called, are the smallest hawk in North America and exhibit the most extreme sexual dimorphism of any raptor on the continent. The females are usually about one-third larger than the males. With their slate-grey backs and fine orange and white bars below, these are very attractive birds though those eyes do give them that somewhat formidable raptor stare!

Pileated Woodpecker

When you need a determined bird, look no further than the pileated woodpecker. These large Woody-woodpecker specimens seem to me to have the hardest job in the bird kingdom: hammering holes in unforgiving wood all day in order to eke out a bug or two. Sounds like a headache in the making! But apparently woodpeckers have built-in shock absorbers. Their long tongues reside in a structure called the hyoid apparatus—a Y-shaped system of bones and cartilage that runs from their beaks, curves up behind the skull and sometimes even loops around their eye sockets and over the cranial crest. This reduces impact on the brain during the high-speed pecking they have perfected.

I first met our pileated woodpecker while sitting in my living room in my favourite spot by the window. I was trying to read and it was trying to drill a hole from the outside in. While hanging from our cedar siding, the woodpecker stopped its work and stretched its neck over its right shoulder to get a better look at me. Having the feeling that I was being watched, I looked over my left shoulder and saw an upside down red head and beady black eyes staring at me. We looked at each other for a minute or two and then he slowly withdrew his head and got back to work. When my practical-minded husband asked if I’d shooed him off the house, I said “No, I went outside and took his picture.”

Wild Turkey

Given that they hang out in the yard every day and benefit from not infrequent handfuls of the sunflower seeds meant for the bird feeder, I’m hard pressed to call the turkeys in our neighbourhood “wild” though indeed they are.

Native to eastern North America, wild turkeys were introduced to the western United States as game birds and have continued to spread north. They weren’t present in my area of the Okanagan Valley but the Creston Valley is home to thousands of them. Here they substitute for the California quail that the Okanagan has aplenty.

If it wasn’t for their prehistoric looking heads and red to almost purple wattles, the opalescence of their brown barred feathers—which catch the light and change from purple to green—would make these birds quite attractive! Large at up to 25 pounds, they don’t spend a lot of time airborne, flying only to roost and when chased.

A large flock roosts in one of the huge spruce trees up the hill behind our house. And one morning I was awake at dawn—a rare occurrence—to see how their morning started. First one bird flew down and landed on the road, calling to the others who one or two at a time flew down to join it. Eventually there were 20 or more turkeys chattering away in front of the house before they went their separate ways in small groups to forage.

In winter, the turkeys often band together by the 20s or 30s and remain grouped through mating season before dividing up into family groups. In spring, the males spend a lot of their time strutting about with tails fanned out and feathers plumped, dragging their wing feathers on the ground, which makes a sound that can’t help but draw attention to them. We frequently see males chasing females around and around trees and later, females leading large clutches of fuzzy little chicks around the yard.

As there’s a lot in this valley for wild turkeys to eat, they don’t seem to bother the fenced gardens much in summer. But the odd one will make its way over the fence and into our dogs’ bad books. Once notified by the dogs, I’ve run out into the garden in my housecoat and slippers to chase a turkey out of the garden first thing in the morning more than once! Left to their own devices, they can do a quick number on your tidy rows of potential produce—something they’re prone to do to the backyard kale in winter when forage is scarce.

Beyond the backyard

Birds are the most diverse group of land vertebrates and I’ve only touched on a few of the species that visit my yard. Birds range in size from the tiniest of hummingbirds—Cuba’s bee hummingbird—to the ostrich, although the wandering albatross is said to be the largest flighted bird with a wingspan of up to 12 feet.

Whether large or small, in the back yard of further afield, birds represent a freedom that only taking to the sky and landing where and when you will can offer. For those of us restricted to a more land-locked existence, there’s something magical about that. And something equally special about bearing witness to the small part of their lives we glimpse by watching them.

I may not be a “real” bird watcher, but I can confidently say that there’s a simple joy to be experienced by witnessing birds at work and play in one’s own back yard—a reminder that nature carries on in the real world doing what it’s always done regardless of what’s happening in the more complex, contrived world of humans.

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Editor’s Note: This article was originally published in April 2026. Information reflects what was accurate at the time of writing. For topics that may change quickly, please verify current details before planning. To ensure honesty and avoid bias, this website features no ads, no sponsored content, and no affiliate links—just straightforward information for fellow travelers.