A woodpecker’s drilling echoes to the mountain clouds. –Dakotsu Iida, Japanese haiku poet
When I first saw this graphic of a woodpecker’s amazing tongue, I was gobsmacked. For years, I’ve watched Red-headed Woodpeckers bully the songbirds in our yard, chasing them from the feeders as they monopolize the supply of black-oiled sunflower seeds. With their bright crimson heads and long beaks, I’ve always thought them to be sharp-looking birds. But until recently, I had no idea that a woodpecker’s tongue, a unique anatomical feature, makes the species truly remarkable. In her article “Built-In Helmet: How the Woodpecker’s Tongue Protects Its Brain” (AZ Animals), Kellianne Matthews writes that “[t]he woodpecker’s tongue functions as a delicate sensor, a lethal spear, and a life-saving helmet, all at once.”
The woodpecker’s tongue is much longer than its beak, extending back into its skull and even wrapping around it. According to the American Bird Conservancy, “The total length of a woodpecker tongue can be up to a third of the bird’s total body length, although the exact proportions vary from species to species. This includes both the part that sticks out past the end of the beak, and the part that stays anchored in the head. If our tongues were the same proportion, they would be around two feet long!” Many believe the woodpecker’s tongue is a shock-absorbing miracle, protecting the bird’s brain from the force and potential trauma from its pecking. Woodpeckers slam their beaks into trees on average 20 times per second. Whereas some have credited the woodpecker’s tongue as protection from these concussive blows, others claim the bird’s skull bone, which is spongy, acts as a kind of “airbag” for the brain. Still others believe that the size and orientation of the woodpecker’s brain protect it, for even the strongest blows results in less than 60% of the pressure needed to give humans a concussion.
As I read more about this biological phenomenon, I begin to appreciate its metaphorical value. Who doesn’t need some serious brain protection, the type that keeps you from getting concussed and the type that keeps you from speaking or writing unfiltered thoughts? Although I haven’t suffered a concussion, I have suffered too many occasions when my thoughts became words I desperately wished I could retract the moment they were spoken. James the Just, half-brother to Jesus, admonishes us when he writes that all kinds of animals, birds, reptiles and sea creatures are being tamed and have been tamed by mankind, but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison (James 3: 7-8). What if I had a metaphorical, self-regulating tongue that instinctively went to work, covering my brain, taming my ill-formed thoughts, bridling my speech, and buying me time to carefully consider what I wanted to say and how to say it? What if such a tongue could protect me from my worst, most poisonous self?
I fear we’ve become a people proficient at pecking. We do much of this from a keypad as we pound out missives through every digital means. From the anonymity and security of our homes, we peck at a speed rivalling that of woodpeckers. Too often, we immediately voice our outrage in response to digital posts that may or may not be true. For who has time to fact-check or consider the validity of sources? Better to peck, peck, peck quickly in righteous indignation. But what if we all had woodpeckers’ tongues? At the very least, they might delay extreme rhetoric until our cooler heads prevail; at best, they might bridle our brains, giving us the time and desire for the discernment we find sorely lacking in much of today’s discourse.
And what if these metaphorical tongues could protect us from the percussive blows of others, from the slings and arrows of sharp tongues? What if we were shielded from the strikes of name-calling and gaslighting, the jabs of belittling and accusing? What if we never suffered the concussions of such hostility? Now, that would be something.
Just yesterday, a Red-headed Woodpecker swooped in from the timber moments after I’d refilled the bird feeders. As I watched him clear the finches and settle in for a leisurely lunch, I felt as if I could see beneath his feathers to where his amazing tongue looped around his brain and snaked through his beak. And watching him eat, I said—aloud and to no one in particular—oh, to have a tongue like that!
