I Got Here First

(Northern Red-shafted Flickers)

I grew up with Flickers in St. Louis. They are noisy. They go about their business with lively and very distinct chatter, making sounds like an opera tenor practicing rolling Rs, or maybe laughing, or maybe shouting warnings at someone too close by. Noisy.

In the East, as their wings flare in flight, you notice two things. First, the distinctive and bright white rump patch as they fly away from you. Second, the bright yellow shafts that support their tawny feathers.

The first Flicker I saw in the West was a bit of a surprise. The bird’s feather shafts glowed red to pink; you might be reminded of the color of a delicious salmon fillet.

The birds’ calls are the same in the east and west, and, like their eastern brethren, the western variety still loves nothing more than a meal of ants. They gather them from rotting tree stumps with their long sticky tongues or enjoy them after splaying on the ground in sunny, dusty spots, where the very ants that ravenously serve to remove mites from their host’s feathers become the Flicker’s next meal.

Is there no ant among the mass that stands above and warns,“Beware! You might eat, but also be eaten.”