Recently, on an evening stroll, I looked down on the path my husband and I traversed to find a single solitary feather, one with polk-a-dots of all things. It honestly took my breath away, stopping me in my tracks. It’s one of the few feathers I’ve ever felt compelled to pick up and bring home.

We did not see the specific bird this feather belonged to. But, we’re fairly certain it was once part of a Great Spotted Woodpecker‘s plume, one of many we’ve come to love in the woodlands near our home in Helsinki.

These creatures have visited our balconies for years, and we welcome their high-pitched somewhat annoying songs and signals, delight when we catch them flitting from tree to tree in search of food or finding their way back to their homes to feed their even more annoying fledglings. The trees around us are dotted with various occupied and abandoned holes this time of year. And, the woods are filled with their cries each evening as we wander on our evenings strolls. The only bird which gives me more of a thrill when spotted (no pun intended) is a hummingbird, and those tiny creatures do not venture this far north as far as I know.

But, woodpeckers and these spotted versions with splashes of bright red on their heads (males) and bums (both males and females) are abundant. We love them, affectionately referring to each individual bird as ‘Woodie!’ Yes, we are just that creative with our bird names.

Several years ago, as I sat reading on the balcony of our last flat one afternoon, one of these amazing creatures landed on the balcony railing a metre or so from where I sat, and pecked at some of the seeds we had laid out for them. He then eyed me as I eyed him. I say ‘him’ without really knowing at the time if it was male or female. [Now, I believe it was a male, given the bright red markings on his head and thanks to the various bird books we’ve since acquired and consulted.]

It was an incredible moment, and one which took my breath away just as much as that tiny feather found on the path more recently did. More so, I’d say. Just me and a woodpecker sitting on the balcony looking at one another. No other sounds mattered. Nothing else really mattered in that moment. Just the two of us, bird and human. The entire encounter lasted no longer than a minute, if that. But, the memory of it will last a lifetime. Years later, it thrills me still.

We’ve come to recognise the call of the woodpecker, noting when we hear it for the first time in spring and understanding that spring is near. We also know that when we hear it from our balcony, Woodie is letting us know that we need to put out the bird feeder. We imagine his calls gently letting us know that we’ve neglected our bird-feeding duties.

Catching glimpses of these creatures in the woods provides moments of hope and peace. And, most likely, a quickening of our heart rates. We hear them far more often than we actually see them. But, in the years since we’ve learned their specific calls, we have also identified the high-pitched screeches of their fledglings, awaiting their evening meals. We have caught the shadow of young ones, not quite happy in their holes and not quite ready to venture out. We’ve also spied a juvenile or two, who look as though they are just leaving their nests and venturing a bit further from their homes. Tiny, fat fluffly birds, pecking away at the trees and looking for a tasty morsels to sustain them.

Whichever creature lost its feather, I hope it is thriving, and the loss of that single gorgeous bit of its plume simply reflected a change in the seasons rather than an encounter with a predator. I keep looking up and down now on our evening strolls, not simply hoping to catch a woodpecker in flight from tree top to tree top. I also hope to find another, perhaps larger and more symmetrical polk-a-dot feather.

But, if I never find another feather, at least we have this one. It’s gorgeous. Perhaps even more so, but at least as much as the bird who shed to whom it belonged.