“You have a hummingbird feeder!” said S. as she looked out our kitchen window to the backyard.
“We do?” I thought. (Yes, I am that clueless). This was in January. The first week in February, my mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table, and a hummingbird hovered above a bush and peeked in at us, spying on our conversation. It suspended in air, as hummingbirds do, flap flap flapping. “Look!” we said. “Wow!”
So, last Tuesday, I decided to make use of the red feeder. I boiled one part sugar with four parts water, let it cool and about an hour later went to fill up the feeder. I didn’t know I had to put the lid on to pressurize the water and the concoction disappeared down the kitchen sink. So I patiently made another batch, filled up the feeder and hung it back on the tree.
The next day, there were no hummingbirds. Nada. The water must have frozen overnight, I thought. Another day passed, no hummingbirds. I looked up the migration patterns. Some species should be in the Mojave desert, I thought.
And then, Friday evening, I saw a hummingbird at the feeder. I practically knocked everything in my way in my excitement to get my camera. I flung the patio door open, ran outside, and, completely forgetting that hummingbirds are timid, ran to the tree like a goon and scared the little guy away.
I’ve never been that interested in birds, but I vividly remember a third grade book report I did on hummingbirds and how amazed I was that they fly backwards. They are beautiful creatures. And now I’ve turned into that crazy bird lady, looking for my two “friends” — the green and magenta hummingbirds who visit regularly.