Timber doodle. Bog sucker. Mud bat. I prefer Timber doodle. The “boring” name is American woodcock. A bird. An islander found her nest of four eggs and took a picture. Textbook pictures confirmed an evolving consensus that the mystery eggs belonged to a momma timber doodle. And as I was sitting on the deck playing her mating song from a Maine Audubon recording, I heard the melody answered from somewhere in the trees above. I think. “Peent” is how the birders spell the song and it sounds just like it sounds.
Timber doodles have been around for five million years. Longer than we have. They would consider all of us to be “from away.” Her eggs a beautiful brownish brindle. Chicks hatch ready to go and start eating on their own in about six hours. Little ones hide from predators by just standing still. Survival freeze tag. Their coloring easily blending with the woodsy surroundings. Worms are the preferred entry on the forest menu and the doodle’s long beak is designed to pull even the tough fighters out of the ground.
Body shape is kinda frumpy looking but you wouldn’t know it when they fly. They zoom straight up to 300 feet. Spiraling and soaring putting on a marvelous air show. The landing is followed by stilt rocking walking with outstretched wings. Not unlike what I do after disembarking from a cramped narrow body low ceiling airliner.
And who is the intended audience for this aerial show? (The doodle’s, not mine.) Doodle ladies of course. All about showing off his airmanship for the girls. You see, Maine is like a singles bar for timber doodles. They come up here to mate and hang out. And it’s a free love kinda thing. Momma isn’t shy about the volume of suitors and apparently neither are the guy doodles. And then its single momma time until six hours after hatching when the little ones are pretty much on their own. Then traveling south for the winter along with many of our neighbors. The timber doodles like the red-eye flight traveling in small groups. A lifetime is eight years. But so far their habitats are still accessible and affordable.
Eight years doesn’t seem very long. I just came back from a funeral in Kansas. She lived 88 years. Even that doesn’t seem like a long time when you’re 71. But I suppose it’s all relative. The worms only live four to eight years assuming they don’t become someone’s meal. And if I could fly Timber doodle aerobatics for eight years like they do, that would be a lifetime of flying.
And so too more lifetimes etching lines in our granite stone. The ospreys have arrived. Along with landscapers and irrigators. Chicken eggs available. Island pancake breakfast Saturday, April 20 at the Old Town Hall. Island clean up May 18. Jodie’s Diner getting positive reviews (the “old” Sarah’s). Craft in the Woods celebrating springtime. Yet another lost and found cat.
Thank you, timber doodle momma for laying, your precious eggs on our island and sharing your story with us. I hope you feel welcome for your eight years and those of your offspring who follow your flight path. This moment has already passed but the memory lingers. And with five million years of eight-year lifetimes, here’s hoping for at least another five million more.
