At dusk way up in the pecan tree the downy woodpecker is still busy, busy, busy. He has food to gather, mates to find, nests to build. He tells me all about it hopping from branch to branch. I hear all his troubles: cold nights, rainy days, bully neighbors and illusive bugs. They all plague him. Tsk tsk tsk he cries to me. Come down closer so I can take your picture. But he is way, way up and much, much too busy for me.