March 1, 2018
The pileated woodpecker is a large and powerful bird, with what seems to me a cumbersome name in English, both overly long and overly erudite. A few years ago, I had the good fortune to encounter the Penobscot name for this bird—May-May—and to learn something of its significance to the ancient residents of the Dawn Land. May-May strikes me as a more time-honored and “right” name for this charismatic bird whose ancestors shared so much time with the Dawn Land peoples. When I encounter one, as I did yesterday morning, I always salute it as May-May, although the bird is usually too intent upon its own business to pay any obvious attention to me.
Everything about May-May is forceful: its drumming; its wuk-wuk cry to defend territory or give an alarm; its skillful, unhesitating flight even through thickly forested land. It is a year-round resident here, but during the winter months tends to be quiet vocally. The winter is ending now. May-May lets us know that.
At May-May’s bold cry
eyes flash open, trees awake
from root tips to sky.
A Maine Haiku Almanac 