Life histories of North American woodpeckers — Story, Setting & Ideas
Edition facts
The catalog record for Life histories of North American woodpeckers — Story, Setting & Ideas provides practical reading context through 176,667 words, 12 hr 49 min estimated reading time, and 95 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 18.4 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Birds -- North America,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.
How this score is calculated
- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
al uninjured, the birds do some harm by scattering the seeds of these noxious plants. * * * Cambium, or the inner bark of trees, was identified in 23 stomachs. Evidently the hairy does but little damage by denuding trees of their bark. Mast, made up of acorns, hazelnuts, and beechnuts, was found in 50 stomachs. It was mostly taken in the fall and winter months, and appears to be quite a favorite food during the cooler part of the year.
Illustrating the quantities of insects eaten by individual birds, F. H. King (1883), Wisconsin, writes: “Of twenty-one specimens examined, eleven had eaten fifty-two wood-boring larvae; five, thirteen geometrid caterpillars; ten, one hundred and five ants; six, ten beetles; two, two cockroaches; two, nine oötheca of cockroaches; two, two moths; one, a small snail; one, green corn; one, a wild cherry; and one, red elder berries. * * * One of the above birds had in its stomach eleven wood-boring larvae (Lamides?) and twelve geometers; another, thirteen larvae of long-horn beetles and four cockroach oötheca; another, nine wood-boring larvae; and two others together had three wood-boring larvae, and nine larvae not coleopterous.”
V. A. Alderson (1890) published the following interesting note: “Last summer, potato bugs covered every patch of potatoes in Marathon County, (being my home county,) Wis. One of my friends here, found his patch an exception, and therefore took pains to find the reason, and observed a hairy woodpecker, making frequent visits to the potato field and going from there to a large pine stub a little distance away.
“After observing this for about six weeks, he made a visit to the pine stub and found, on inspection, a large hole in its side about fifteen feet up. He took his axe and cut down the stub, split it open, and found inside, over two bushels of bugs. All had their heads off and bodies intact.”
The woodpecker’s method of locating tree-boring larvae and its specialized apparatus for extracting them are so well described by Dr. Thomas S. Roberts (1932) that I cannot do better than to quote him, as follows:
The hairy woodpecker possesses in its tongue one of the most remarkably developed and perfectly adapted instruments for extracting the tree larvae from their tunnels. The tip is a rigid, barbed spear and can be thrust out to an astonishing distance by reason of greatly elongated, posterior horns which pass up over the back and top of the head and run together down in front of the right eye, around which they are coiled for almost the entire circumference of the socket! So that, the drilling into the tunnel accomplished, the tongue darts out, the inner ends uncoil, the spear transfixes the grub, and with little ado the larva is dragged from its retreat into the bill of the bird, pounded perhaps for a moment or two, swallowed forthwith or carried to the young, and this most perfectly contrived and highly efficient engine is once more ready for action. There has been considerable discussion as to how the woodpeckers locate the larvae, active or dormant, which are hidden deeply in the wood and for which they drill so unerringly. All the special senses of birds are very highly developed, and it seems probable that in this case hearing, touch, and smell all may play a part. The active grub, as it crunches the wood, makes a sound that would surely be audible to a bird with its keen sense of hearing. The tunnel produces a cavity which would give both a different sound and feeling on tapping over it. Such things as grubs have a strong odor, and it is probable that this plays a part also.
Forbush (1927) says: “Maurice Thompson asserts that the hairy woodpecker strikes its bill into the wood and then holds the point of one mandible for a moment in the dent thus made. He believes that the vibrations produced by the insect in the wood are then conveyed through the beak and skull of the bird to its brain.”
In winter this woodpecker comes readily to suet or meat bones hung up on our trees or feeding stations to attract birds. It is also said to feed on the carcasses of animals left in the woods by trappers or hunters and to pick the fat from fresh skins that the trapper has hung up to dry. Although often called a sapsucker, there is practically no evidence that it ever does any injury to trees in this way; any sap or cambium eaten is probably taken incidentally in its search for insects.
Arthur Cleveland Bent's Life Histories of North American Woodpeckers (1939) opens a window into a particular kind of scientific writing: one that moves without apology from a precise measurement—'the depth may vary from 10 to 24 inches'—to a quiet speculation about evolutionary pressure, as when he suggests that 'in avoidance of parasites, the practice should have evolved of drilling a fresh cavity for each brood.' The prose is unhurried, accumulating evidence from correspondents and published records, and it rarely raises its voice. Yet within this steady cadence, the reader will find small surprises: the observation that 'a feather or two will be the only trace of occupancy,' or the admission that a collector's persistent egg-hunting may have forced birds to reuse a cavity. These details give the work its texture.
A Voice Built from Measurements and Modifiers
Bent's language is conspicuously quantitative. He reports that the average depth of a Pileated Woodpecker cavity, from 15 measurements, is 19 inches; that the entrance passageway is 'about 2 inches inward' before a ridge; that the bowl at the bottom is '6 or 6½ inches across.' These numbers are not decorative—they are the spine of the argument. But notice how often he qualifies them: 'extreme figures of 6 and 26 have been recorded'; 'as a general rule, certainly'; 'it may be supposed.' The effect is a voice that is authoritative yet cautious, unwilling to overstate what a handful of observations can prove. When he writes of a single cavity used three times, he adds that 'it may be supposed that the woodpeckers had been unduly limited in the choice of nesting sites'—a hypothesis offered, not asserted. This habit of hedging, far from weakening the prose, gives it a kind of honesty that invites trust.
The Shape of a Cavity, the Shape of a Sentence
Bent's descriptions of nesting cavities are among the most vivid passages in the excerpts. He traces the geometry of the chamber with a craftsman's eye: 'slightly from a low domed roof downward to a bowllike bottom'; 'the ridge across the floor of the entrance passageway is rounded.' The sentences themselves mimic the structure they describe—long, carefully joined, with clauses that curve and descend. He notes that 'all the surfaces of the cavity are neatly and uniformly chiseled' and that 'along the sides of the entrance passageway extend in parallel curves the tool marks of the bird’s beak.' The tool marks become a signature of the bird's labor, and Bent's prose, in turn, bears the tool marks of his own method: patient, exact, and attentive to the physical evidence left behind. The passage is as close as this scientific text comes to a set piece, and it rewards a slow reading.
Tempo and the Accumulation of Evidence
The pacing of Bent's narrative is deliberate, even repetitive. He stacks observations from different observers—Scoville, Harlow, Morrell, Burleigh—and lets them accumulate rather than synthesizing them into a single claim. The effect is cumulative: we learn that 'May 10 is the standard date for a full clutch of eggs' in Centre County, Pennsylvania, but also that a set of eggs hatched on May 11 in one year and that another set collected on May 11 was 'practically fresh.' Bent does not resolve the contradiction; he simply presents the data and notes that 'the interval at which these two cases stand apart is about 25 days.' The reader is left to ponder the variability. This is not a narrative that rushes to a conclusion. It is a collection of evidence, arranged with care, and the tempo—steady, patient, unhurried—is itself a statement about how knowledge is built.
Readers coming to this volume for the first time should expect a work that rewards patience. Bent's method is not to argue a thesis but to assemble a dossier. The pleasure lies in watching him weigh one observer's report against another, in noticing when he lets a number stand without comment, and in catching the rare moment when his voice sharpens into something like wonder. The woodpeckers themselves remain at the center, but it is Bent's quiet, persistent attention that makes them visible.
Bent’s careful measurements always make me pause, the way his numbers feel like quiet gestures of patience. I thought of that while remembering our own mockingbird’s stubborn habits, its endless little rituals. There’s a tenderness in documenting a life so closely, in both books—a soft attention I find myself carrying long after closing the pages. Bob: The Story of Our Mocking-bird — Background and Themes feels like a cousin to that same devotion.
There are no reviews for this eBook.
Your personal reading reflection
Build a private reading journal entry for this title.