An oak and a maple were standing at the edge of a bluff gazing out over the vast expanse when they noticed a young sapling in the glen below.
"Oh look," said the oak. "A young son of a beech."
"Actually I think it's son of a birch," said the maple.
They turned to a male woodpecker hammering away in a nearby box elder. "Hey Woody," the oak called out. "Would you mind flying down and checking out that young sapling in the glen? Maple here says it's a son of a birch but I think it's a son of a beech."
The woodpecker flew down and a few minutes later came back, perching on one of the oak's branches. "Well," he said. "Turns out you were both wrong. That is the finest piece of ash this old pecker's gotten into in a long time."
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