Day 14

The yard is full of jays.
I could hear them outside on this hot, steamy morning, coming closer and closer--even through closed windows, as the air conditioner drones noisily behind the house.
They're everywhere.
Swooping down into the highest branches, and searching along each one.
Even the maple tree.

Where is Mama?
They've come too close.
And I cannot scare them away.

The nest is empty.
I still have not seen Mama.

I'm not yet ready to be forgiving of bluejays,
but some helpful follow-up reading can be found here.

The Lookout

It would seem they’re all alone in the world.
Two tiny baby hummingbirds, sleeping soundly beneath a leafy canopy.
Eyes still closed, tucked securely into their inch and a half-wide nest--a stretchy spider web structure lined with plant down.
Snug and warm as a fine woolen cap.
On a long, low branch of the old sugar maple.



From 40 feet across the yard, she watches, perched on a twig at the very tip of a slender, crooked branch of lichen-covered locust.

Without leaves, it makes the perfect lookout.
And forms the third point of a triangle, with the nest and porch feeders.


All day long, she returns to this spot, feeding every 10 to 15 minutes--then preening in the bright sunshine.



She visits the nest only every 90 minutes or so—standing at the rim just long enough to feed her young from her crop, before disappearing again across the yard.



It surprises me that she no longer spends time here, as she did when they were 2 small eggs.
Perhaps she trusts the warmth of the woolly nest she has given them to snuggle them when she cannot.
And, as inactive as they still are, knows they need less nourishment than she.
Or perhaps, being the sole parent, time is best spent being vigilant--rather than resting with them beneath the low, leafy branches.

Daily nest photos are posted to the slideshow in my sidebar.

Behind Enemy Lines

Any opportunity to see something new excites me.
Glimpses into the natural world present themselves unexpectedly—unexplored treasures land almost upon my doorstep.
At times, I find myself caught between giddy exploration and more thoughtful restraint.
With a camera in hand, so much more can be seen.
Yet, how close is too close?
And when does my desire to discover interfere with what I want so badly to see?

I struggle to do what is best for both.
And lacking the experience with nesting birds and close contact with fledging hummingbirds, thought I might have the recipe for disaster brewing. Pictures of prematurely fledging babies are not what I’m after. Or abandoned nests, with orphaned young.
Just a clearer picture of what I have never before seen.

Tossed, I wrote to Julie Zickefoose.
Her experience and knowledge are beyond measure.
Her passion, directed as it should be.
Toward all things natural.

Her first question to me, “Are you sure your attention won’t bring predators in with scent?”
Jays, chipmunks and snakes might be alerted to the presence of a nest, if I’m careless in being near. Like the path in the woods that all must walk down, regardless of where it leads, scent is an invitation to explore further.
I must be careful of my presence there.
And not lead others to them.

I snapped just one close-up, waiting until she had left for food, and disappearing before her return.


Two hairy raisins sleeping soundly, already much larger than just days ago!
And a tiny bare wing folded against pink skin.

Then I sat at a distance, hoping to see her feed them before settling in again.
For almost 2 hours I waited, focused on the branch with a longer lens, perfectly still, watching the nest until my legs ached from the stillness.
Through the yard, chatter from another female and 2 males as they darted back and forth to the porch feeder.
And Mama chipping from behind me somewhere, though I dared not take my eyes from her nest.



I left for work without ever seeing her return.
Crossing the sidewalk in the front yard, I found a large black rat snake stretched out in the grass.
Perhaps she saw him there as I waited?
And watched his progress as he hunted.

I relocated him far from the maple tree.
And found Mama back at the nest that evening.
Resting beneath her leafy canopy in the rain.

Born on the Fourth of July

First, is the wind.
Then, follows the rain.
So has been the pattern of these past two weeks.

A furious wind that is heard before it is seen.
And leaves a visible mark in downed trees and branches scattered about.

I worry about the little hummingbird nesting with us.
And imagine what it must feel like to ride the branches as they sway in the storms.
From the shelter of my house I watch her, atop her nest at the end of a long, narrow maple branch. Her dark green back against the light green lichens, all I can see.
Secured by spiderweb tethers—it is anchored tightly.



Up and down she rides, never leaving them.
Two small white eggs, protected from the storm.
Still, I worry.



All is well.
They are here.
Two tiny lives begin.

Egg #1 hatched 7/04/08

Egg #2 hatched 7/05/08

I did not expect the first chick to be so pink--the Cornell web site describes their condition at hatching as, "Helpless, naked and black."
By day 2, it has darkened.
I must have snapped this shot as soon as it was out of the shell!



This morning, I found the paper-thin shell on the lawn.
Mama has been tidying up.



Progress of this family will be regularly posted to
"A Bird's Life."

Meet the parents

Dinner is served at 6 -- and 6:10, 6:20, 6:30, 6:40 and so on, if you're one of the hummingbirds that dines at the porch feeder.
It hangs from the eaves, a cup of sweetened water, lovingly prepared, in its reservoir. A supplement to the bright, flowering plants below—trumpet creeper, columbine and lilies.

We sit, with our plates, watching from a few feet away, our conversation interrupted every few minutes by the loud buzz of her approach. From the very slender branch of a nearby tree, she zooms in, hovers and takes a few hurried sips. Just over a tenth of an ounce—an emerald jewel.



Then—off, as suddenly as she appeared.
Back to the nest to sit.


Her mate visits less often.
Perhaps he wanders farther within his territory or needs less nourishment now, than she.


Then, in a flash, he is there, even smaller than the female—tiny toes curled around the red perch while he drinks. His brilliant red gorget, black in the fading light of evening.

His role within this new family is finished. Nest-building and feeding responsibilities are hers now and hers alone.
The two bicker often. Their harsh chatter follows as they chase and dive—speeding past our heads within the porch.
Racing off into the blue until they are seen no more.

The nest I'm watching
6/25/08


Progress of this family will be regularly posted to
"A Bird's Life."


Thanks to Wigger's World for hosting Skywatch Friday each week at his site!

More hummingbirds (or When Lightning Strikes Twice)

A flash of harmless lightning,
A mist of rainbow dyes,
The burnished sunbeams brightening
From flower to flower he flies.
~John Banister Tabb



From the porch as I sit, sheltered from the rain, watching lightning strikes carve dazzling designs beyond the horizon, I can barely see her.

The leafy canopy she so carefully chose to build her nest beneath is heavy with rain. The long graceful maple branch bearing her delicate cup hangs low.
Steadfastly she waits out the storm.
The sky flashes brightly.

Her children will be tough as nails.
Forged of a steely nature whose strength defies all others'.
But, for now, two pea-sized eggs.
Under the protection of a hummingbird mother.

Yes! Another nest!

Hummingbird nest
2 eggs
6/21/08




I'm hoping to be able to document this nest and the lives within--
similar to this spring's vernal pool series, "With My Boots On."

"A Bird's Life," coming soon!