ProetryPlaceBlog 17
A Conversation with Hank the Hungry Hummingbird
I have been trying unsuccessfully to get a decent photo of hummingbirds at our feeders all summer. They flutter, fight and fly, amusing us with their avian acrobatics, but they do not pose. Resting only microseconds to feed, they remain otherwise in constant, blurred motion.
I can show you photos of goldfinch, cardinals, doves, nuthatches, chickadees, etcetera and etc., even pigeons, crows and hawks , swans, cormorants, herons and brightly feathered parrots, but hummingbirds are supremely elusive and camera shy. I have even kept my camera on the kitchen table, so I could grab a quick shot of them just outside the bay window—to no avail.
It seems the darling little devils have a sixth or seventh sense when it comes to cameras. Not only do they refuse to pose, but invariably speed away before I am able to get the camera to my eye. Put the lens cap on again and there they are, dancing their erratic, elusive maneuvers, teasing and tempting me to try another blurry shot while they pause to probe for nectar at the feeder with their slender beaks.
Last night just before dusk, I went out on the deck to fill the feeder suspended there on the rail. Even before I had the flowery base unscrewed from the reservoir, this brazen little green fellow showed up, hovering just inches in front of my face. I almost dropped the feeder. I expected he was just as startled as I and would immediately fly away. He did not.
I was not quite sure of the proper form of address for hummingbirds, although I thought small talk would be appropriate. I said, “Hey, Mr. Brazen, how ya doin’?”
No answer.
I rested the empty base on the railing, and he darted over and poked his long, pointed yellow beak in to catch a snack before bedtime. No luck. Surely he will leave now, I thought, disappointed or disgusted. He did not.
As I poured sugar-water into the reservoir he bobbed up, down and around my hands trying to get a sample or maybe just closely supervise the operation. Several times he came up directly in front of my nose and looked at me as if to say, “Hurry up, Mac, don’t you see I’m starving?” or “Hey man, mine’s longer than yours.”
I said, “Mr. Brazen, you are one brave or famished hummingbird.”
He moved an inch or two horizontally to the left and answered, “Whrrr,” with his invisible wings.
I said, “Mind if I call you Hank, Mr. Brazen—you know H. B. for humming-bird?”
Hank dropped an inch and whispered, “Whrrr.”
My hands were occupied, so I could not extend one to him to see if he might light for a moment on my open palm or maybe shake a wing. I completed the filling, totally enthralled by this little miracle of nature that chose to confront me, eyeball to eyeball. We continued our conversation.
I asked, “Where are you snowbirds planning to spend the winter?”
He backed off a foot or so, in an apparent huff, and retorted, “Whrr! (up), whrr! (down), whrrrr! (forwards), which I took to mean, “Less talk and more action, PLEASE!”
I quickly reassembled the feeder, reached up high to suspend it from the support and stepped back to observe Hank’s next move. Of course, I did not have a camera to even contemplate capturing the moment, but it did not matter. Hank had retired for the night.
This may be the last time I have to fill the feeders this season. All the birds seem especially voracious at this time, socking in some extra nourishment to sustain their migrations and possible sparse winters.
The hummingbirds will be among the first to leave. After we have missed their antics outside our window for a couple of weeks, I will empty and clean the feeders for storage where they will remain, out of sight and out of mind until next spring. Not so for Hank.
Hank Brazen will not store a moment’s recollection of our brief encounter in his hummingbird brain as his miniature wings carry him southward, mile after mile, but I will remember Hank the hungry hummingbird throughout all the winters of my life.
Bon Voyage, Hank. I wish you all the best on your journey.
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