A male Northern Flicker with his scarlet pork chops is working on a tree, a fifteen-foot western hemlock snag in Paulik Park. He is hammering away, keeping pace with the bap-bap-bap of roofers' nail guns in the nearby subdivision. It must be hard, swinging your head back and forth inside a tree. Must be loud, too. We had to chop out some of the concrete floor beneath the stairs when a pipe burst. My ears ring just remembering that. Much respect, Mr. Flicker.
Cleaning up. No Shop-Vac. You just close your eyes, and fling!
He has built a nifty home in a lovely dead tree, proof that a tree never really dies. When Porkchops and his family move on, others will probably move in. It's prime real estate, southern exposure in a quiet neighbourhood (once the roofers are gone).