Tucked away in a wooded portion of Cleburne County is a growing suburb.

This bedroom community offers loft dwellings. It’s so exclusive that housing is practically by invitation only. A professional staff carefully monitors residents to ensure happiness, going to extreme measures to protect and pamper them.

Ready to move in?

Not so fast. Unless you’re small, feathered, have a diet consisting of ants, beetles, spiders and other creepy-crawlies and are an endangered species of woodpecker that was once commonplace across the United States, setting up housekeeping is out of the question.

The community is reserved for the red-cockaded woodpecker, which is approximately the size of the common cardinal with “black and white horizontal stripes on its back and a black cap and nape that encircle large white cheek patches,” according to the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service. It gets its name from a red streak the male male carries on the side of its black cap. While not as famous as its larger cousin, the ivory-billed woodpecker, the red-cockaded is important nonetheless for a variety of endangered species that once flourished in eastern North America.

A nesting area occupies a portion of the Pinhoti Trail near Coleman Lake, a Forest Service campground in the Shoal Creek Ranger District.

A hiker walking through Section 3 of the trail will notice the gently rolling hills and well-spaced longleaf pines. What they may not notice at first glance is that the forest there is home to one of only a few places where the red-cockaded woodpeckers are still living in the southern Appalachians.

The habitat, which has grown steadily over the past two decades, stands as a lesson that National Forests are for more than recreation. Protection is a central part of the mission. In the case of the Shoal Creek District of the Talladega National Forest, restoration of the red-cockaded woodpecker and scores of other creatures, some of whom are endangered and all of whom are dependent on the bird, is important. Before the 125,000-acre property came under federal protection in the 1930s, it was the victim of overuse. In the 100 years after native Americans left the region, the forest and soil were treated carelessly, causing vast flooding and erosion worries.

Walking through Section 3 of the Pinhoti Trail, a hiker barely notices signs of the former damage. The reclamation is in process.

It was not always the case. As pine forests disappeared across the Southeast, so did the once-common populations of red-cockaded woodpeckers. Today, the population is 3 percent of what it was 100 years ago.

The growing woodpecker neighborhood along the Pinhoti is not thriving by accident. Forest Service employees actively foster these homesteads for the feathered set. They keep the right balance of pine trees in the area, by thinning in spots and planting in others. They coordinate with other federal agencies in the effort. The birds are often moved from other parts of the Southeast to the Shoal Creek district. When they move in, Forest Service employees place identifying bands on the birds to keep track of them.

The hard work is paying dividends. A population of three family groups has grown to more than a dozen in 17 years.

Jeff Gardner, Shoal Creek’s wildlife biologist, calls the red-cockaded woodpecker a “keystone species of longleaf pine.” One example is where the birds make their homes: inside the cavities of living longleaf pines. Other woodland creatures often compete to claim the safe and dry nests.

Humans, so the thinking goes, put the red-cockaded woodpecker in peril by poor forest-management practices such as overlogging, sprawl and preventing the regular and necessary fires that keep the longleaf pine healthy.

After Alabama forests were cleared during the last part of the 19th century and the first part of the 20th century, the absent longleaf pines were not readily replaced. That process has only begun with any coordination over the past two decades. Gardner emphasizes that planting the trees is but one step in rebuilding the habitat for the red-cockaded woodpecker. Time is important; older longleafs are favored by the birds, and it can take 30 years or more for a tree to mature.

Time mixed with effort appears to be the key. Those two elements harmed the forest and now they are working to restore it.

In Brief

• Miles in section: 15

• Miles you hiked: Getting turned around added at least another 10 miles to my day.

• How long did it take? What should have taken five hours took almost 10.

• The one word that describes your hike: Lost.

• In a few sentences, tell us about your hike: Cole Nelson, a Donoho student who was doing a week’s internship at the paper last month, drove me to the trailhead. He may have doomed my hike by saying to call his cell if I got lost, something I promptly did. One caution: Follow the map closely and don’t get confused by horse trails, which also criss-cross this part of the forest. Still, it was a lovely walk in the woods, as the spring greenery stretched out on all sides.

• What was the most striking thing you saw on the trail? Reaching the rare clearings to get a glimpse of the rolling Appalachian foothills.

• What was the most disappointing? Getting lost.

• What’s the one essential piece of gear you wished you’d brought? My map, naturally.

• How was the trail? Were there obstacles (downed trees, etc.) in the way? Could have used better defined trail markings.

A lesson from Dora

Dora the Explorer can tell you how this hiker went wrong. The Nick Jr. cartoon character always relies on her map when wading into adventures, bringing the point home with a little ditty. “I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the map,” it goes in its sing-songy patter. (Parents of the under-6 set, wave your hands in the air.)

And so it was that this reporter was aimlessly wandering through the Talladega National Forest in March thinking about Dora and her map. My map, carefully studied before heading out on the hike, was heedlessly forgotten when it came time to go hiking.

It would have come in handy, theoretically guiding me along the right path and keeping me from getting lost on the wrong trail, which is what happened. Eventually, losing daylight and running out of water, I found a Forest Service road and began walking down it. My rescue came when a passing driver offered me a ride back to my car.

The lessons are:

1. Bring the map.

2. Be alert for Pinhoti Trail markers, which are typically dashes of blue paint at eye-level.

3 Make a plan and share it with someone.

4. A cell phone will only get you so far. I dialed 911 at one point, hoping the operator could pinpoint my location via the cell signal. The plan was foiled when the closest cell tower was in Polk County, Ga., where the operator was unable to help.

5. Prepare for the worst by bringing enough provisions to survive an unexpected night in the woods.