Chapter 10: The Woodpecker (Joanie's Story)

As Ellis was telling his story, we continued to travel along the Walter Bean Trail with the Grand River to our left through the trees and suburban houses to our right. When he finished, we moved along in companionable silence for a while, and then a tiny, wrinkled woman with very thick, white hair who carried her pack with an almost miraculous sense of ease, said,

"My name is Joanie and my story isn't very long, though my life feels so. Way back in the beginning of things - well, it's not so important. I have travelled a great deal in my life, and accomplished many things. But I am here today for something that happened not so very long ago - only two years - which is not long at my age - so I'll tell you only my more recent story - although maybe later on, I'll tell you more about my life in the past."

Everyone nodded so Joanie continued.

"Two years ago I discovered that one can feed chickadees on the north side of the hill in Hillside Park. If you come in over the big bridge, and start to go up the hill path, but instead head into the trees and follow a curved path, you'll come alongside a small creek."

"I like to walk in Hillside Park all through the seasons and I like to sit in this area, read or write, or just dream. I love to be in nature," she said, and looked around appreciatively at the river bank.

"One winter day I was eating a crumbly granola bar when a chickadee fluttered to a branch just above my head. He cocked his head at me so I held up my palms with a few crumbs. He hopped down and stood on my hand - with his little claws wrapped around my fingers - and pecked, and flew away. He came back again for more, and a few friends joined."

"I don't have to explain what a marvel this kind of things is, even if you've travelled the world. The next time I came to the park, I brought a bag of sunflower seeds and waited a while until the chickadees found me again. A whole bunch gathered nearby, swooping down and in, up and out, chattering. A cardinal and his mate approached too, but didn't come to my hand - just watched the action. Just as I was about to lower my arms, which were getting tired, I spotted a red-headed woodpecker in the tree above, looking down at me. I enjoyed the opportunity to admire his beautiful markings, while the chickadees enjoyed the last of the seeds, when suddenly, he flew down, landing on my wrist and causing all the chickadees to disperse. Before I could jerked my hand away, he gave me a sound jab in the palm - so hard and fast that he made a hole right through me!"

"Blood spurted out and I felt dizzy and weak. The pain was intense, although I could feel shock about to set in. I was cold too and that wasn't helping. I was fairly far off the path, and I needed to get help. I tried to run through the woods but I was stumbling over roots and snowy hillocks, slipping on icy bits. Blood was trailing in the snow. I remembered to hold my hand tight with my other hand and mitten, to try to stop the blood. I think I was screaming, but I don't know how loud it was. I made it out onto the main trail - a woman was walking a dog, looking around in alarm at my yelling. As soon as she saw me she rushed towards me, the dog barking. 

"Please call an ambulance," I shouted, although again I am not sure how loud I was. "I'm bleeding."

"She pulled out her phone and suddenly I realized I was going to faint. I put my hand on her arm, for support, and in blurring vision heard her asking me what happened and trying to get her phone from her pocket, and then I saw and felt nothing for a while."

"I came back to consciousness in an ambulance, lying on a stretcher. I look blearily around and heard someone say that I was coming back. I fainted again and I woke up as the stretcher was going into the hospital. This time I remained conscious as I was pushed through the hall to a bed, and moved onto it. 

"A doctor came in shortly, removed the gauze the paramedics put on my hand, and examine my wound. I tried to look at it too, but I was too dizzy to life my head. It certain felt strange. He told me it would require stitches, which he would do shortly. He left and I drifted for a while; a nurse came and cleaned my wound; he came back, numbed the area and did his business. By this time I was feeling a little more clear-headed. The stitching completed, the doctor wrote me a prescription for antibiotics and left. A nurse came in and asked me if I'd like to call someone so they could discharge me, if I was well enough to sit up.

"I found I was, and said I could call myself - though I realized with one hand so bandaged, it was difficult, so the nurse called my husband. By the time he arrived, slightly frazzled looking, I was feel weak, but steady. 

"I was very lucky - the stab was clean and didn't injure any tendons. Still I was not able to use my hand for quite a while, which through my entire routine into shambles. My husband was forced to do many things for me. I have always been very independent, and it was not a good feeling. He did things differently than I was used to, and I felt helpless. Eventually I got used to and became quite clever with one hand.

"At the end of a week of this recovering, I felt well and dexterous enough to go for a walk again. I walked down Glenridge Drive, towards the park, hoping that the fresh air would clear the mild feelings of depression as well as distracted me from continuing, thought not severe, pain. 

"It was good to be outside again, good to be moving. I felt a warm and joy despite the cold air when I entered the park off MacGregor Crescent, and made my way down the trail. It was an extremely quiet morning; I could hear no sounds at all and it was almost eerie. I noticed some anxiety, and it seemed strange. All I could see was snow and sky; somewhat blindingly bright, empty, cool - a complete lack of colour and sound. My head swam a little and I shook it. I took a deep breath.

"From the corner of my eye, I saw a splash of red. A jarring flash in a sea of nothing, a shock, a scream, and yet all around me, silence and whiteness. The woodpecker began to hammered, the red flashing, the relentless knocking, and my heart lurched. I couldn't breathe. Blood on the snow. Blood in the snow. The hammering in my head, my heart, the pulse in my wood. It was too quiet, it was too loud. There was nothing. There was blood.

"I turned around and ran as quickly as I could! I ran all the way home even though my lungs were burning by the time I got there. I ran into the house, slammed the door and ran into our bedroom. I got under the covers and curled up in a ball, shaking.

"Fred came in and sat on the bed and asked me what was happening. I couldn't really explain it so I just said I was afraid, and he stroked my back through the cover until my body started to relax. When I stretched out, he got under the covers with me and we lay spooning quietly as it the blue dusk descended on the snow outside - until everything was blue and yellow and cozy. Finally, we got up and had dinner by candlelight. The darkness was an antidote - no whiteness, no emptiness.

"I told myself I just needed more rest, that I was still recovering. But as the days passed, rest turned to avoidance. I was restless, missing being outdoors, but I told myself I wasn't ready. I kept the curtains drawn too, during the day - the whiteness of snow was too much. Getting to my appointment to have my stitches removed required all of my courage, and keeping my eyes closed during the car ride. Once at the hospital, I was okay, thank goodness, but the experience didn't invite an attempt at repetition. Most of the winter passed - Fred was willing to take care of errands, and our children were willing to visit us - everyone was very kind and caring and worried for me, but put it down to the strange experience I'd had in the woods. When spring came, I thought that with the passing of the snow and cold, I would feel ready again, but I didn't. At this point though, I knew I had to make myself, so I went for a painfully slow and terrifying walk down Glenridge. 

"What I discovered was that things were okay. I was okay. I circled MacGregor and felt good. I smiled and felt deep joy for the first time in months, as I turned into the park. But the moment I found myself among the trees my heart lurched and without even the sensation of it being voluntary, I turned on my heel and began to run. I slowed down before I reached home; being on concrete was soothing. So I walked further down Glenridge, around to University Avenue, and then tried again to enter the park on the trail next to the highway. The moment I entered the trees, the same sensations came to me and I started running back up the hill. 

"This was discouraging and strange. I had no business still being afraid of the woods, in the spring sunshine, after months of rest, when my hand was perfectly fine. I brooded on it for the next few days, trying again and again - I had Fred drive me (and I felt fine in the car) across the highway bridge to Bechtel Park. We entered through the cemetery and I felt fine - but as soon as we crossed the lawn onto the trail on the north-west corner, I began to shake and cry, and we had to return to the cemetery. I stood staring longingly at the woods. 

"I am so grateful that I met Jennifer. It has been a long two years. I can do almost anything I NEED to do, but I do so miss my beloved woods.

"Jennifer found me standing staring into Sugarbush Park. I'm not sure why that particular park, only that I had spent the better part of the past two years driving to nearly every park in the city, hoping that one of them would let me in. None of them did, but Sugarbush was where I saw Jennifer emerge from the woods walking towards me. She took my hand and we wandered up and down the park for many hours. It was the happiest I'd felt in years.

Joanie smiled and her eyes filled up with tears. 

"Look how beautiful it is here," she said. "The water running. The trees in the wind. The dirt beneath our feet. I am so grateful."

Jennifer turned to look back at Joanie and reached out to squeeze her hand. Then Joanie smiled at the rest of us. 

"Isn't it just so beautiful?" she said.