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For the Hummingbirds

May21

There must have been a burst of migration that afternoon last week. I took the empty feeder inside to clean and fill it, and when I came out they mobbed me as I neared the hook, darting at the red base even as I carried it upside down. There was a similar frenzy at both main feeders yesterday, all day and especially in the evening. It had been cold, overcast, and rainy all day with a little burst of hail. With the blossom schedule all screwed up from the couple of exceptional freezes in the last month, and the general upheaval of climate chaos, the ancestral nectar sources for all kinds of pollinators are out of sync with migrations. This is one of the main reasons I commit to feeding hummingbirds. I figure we owe them.

Black-chinned hummingbirds are usually the first to arrive at Mirador, and for years have consistently shown up around April 25. This year they arrived a couple of weeks early. As soon as I heard one I went inside and mixed food with one cup of boiling water and one-quarter cup of white granulated sugar. This is the best approximation we can make for them. Honey, or any other kind of sugar, is NOT HEALTHY for them. Take my word, or look it up in a reputable bird resource. These are tiny creatures with fast metabolisms who are very susceptible to pathogens. Cornell Lab of Ornithology, my go-to for all bird questions, says this about hummingbird food:

“Food coloring is unnecessary; table sugar is the best choice. Change the water before it grows cloudy or discolored and remember that during hot weather, sugar water ferments rapidly to produce toxic alcohol. During hot spells, change your hummingbird water daily or at most every two days. Your feeders will attract far more hummingbirds if you also grow appropriate flowers attractive to them.” 

And this about the Black-chinneds specifically:

“The Black-chinned Hummingbird’s tongue has two grooves; nectar moves through these via capillary action, and then the bird retracts the tongue and squeezes the nectar into the mouth. It extends the tongue through the nearly closed bill at a rate of about 13–17 licks per second, and consumes an average of 0.61 milliliters (about one-fiftieth of a fluid ounce) in a single meal. In cold weather, may eat three times its body weight in nectar in one day. They can survive without nectar when insects are plentiful….. At rest, heart beats an average of 480 beats per minute. On cold nights they go into torpor, and the heart rate drops to 45–180 beats per minute. Breathing rate when resting is 245 breaths per minute at 91 degrees Fahrenheit; this rises to 420 breaths per minute when temperature drops to 55 degrees Fahrenheit. Torpid hummingbirds breathe sporadically…. A Black-chinned Hummingbird’s eggs are about the size of a coffee bean. The nest, made of plant down and spider and insect silk, expands as the babies grow.”

The next hummer to arrive is the Broad-tailed hummingbird.

“A jewel of high mountain meadows, male Broad-tailed Hummingbirds fill the summer air with loud, metallic trills as they fly. They breed at elevations up to 10,500 feet, where nighttime temperatures regularly plunge below freezing. To make it through a cold night, they slow their heart rate and drop their body temperature, entering a state of torpor. As soon as the sun comes up, displaying males show off their rose-magenta throats while performing spectacular dives. After attracting a mate, females raise the young on their own.”

You can hear the male Broad-tailed’s trill amid the buzz of all the wings, and catch a glimpse of their magenta throat feathers. This video is from that frenzied afternoon last week. For the last couple of hours before dark yesterday there were well over a dozen birds at each of the two main feeders. I’m grateful that some of them moved on with a more temperate day today.

So I checked with Dr. David Inouye about my hummer feeder protocol, and was glad to know I’m doing everything right. And maybe more meticulously than is strictly necessary, but I don’t want to take any chances. Here’s what I do:

  • Keep the feeders sparkling clean! Early in the season I don’t fill them completely, so that the food doesn’t sit around and ferment or grow cloudy. I prefer clear glass feeders with reservoirs that come apart completely so that I can thoroughly clean them with hot water and various sized bottle brushes. David said if you see anything questionable, scrub with a mild bleach solution or a little detergent and rinse thoroughly, and let dry completely before refilling.
  • Soap can leave a harmful film. Audubon Society recommends soaking feeders with mold or mildew in a vinegar solution. But you should never let them get that far! Even the tiniest bit of visible black on the glass or the portals signifies a potentially deadly threat.
  • Boil tap water for a couple of minutes.
  • While it boils, I put ¾ cup white table sugar in a quart mason jar, using a metal canning funnel. Then I fill the jar to the shoulder with boiling water (also via the metal funnel). This results in the right 1:4 sugar water ratio, roughly ¼ cup sugar for each cup of water, and fills the jar.
  • I stir with a dedicated sterling silver spoon until the sugar has thoroughly dissolved. Silver is said to have antimicrobial properties. It can’t hurt. I don’t wash the spoon with soap but rinse it afterwards in very hot water, and then stand it spoon-side up in a pint mason jar where I also keep the bottle brushes, brush side up.
  • Let cool completely. If I’m not going to use it the same day, I refrigerate it, but so far this season I’ve been making just enough to fill the feeders daily, a couple of them twice, so I just leave it on the counter with a lid on.
  • Bring in the empty feeder, rinse all parts thoroughly with very hot tap water, and brush all parts every other day. As summer heats up I may end up brushing every day. Yes, it takes some time, but they’re worth it.
  • Fill the feeder partly or completely, depending on how fast they’re drinking it, and hang it again.
  • Make sure the ant traps have water in them. This time of year ants aren’t an issue, but later in the summer they’ll climb up, down, and into the feeders, sometimes even clogging the holes. It’s better for everyone if a few of them drown in water while the rest are deterred by the obstacle.
  • Sit outside and enjoy!
  • Repeat as necessary.
  • I leave the feeders up in autumn until roughly a week goes by without seeing a hummingbird, and even then I keep an empty on hand for awhile and a cup of fresh nectar in the fridge for any stragglers. I also make sure that I have nectar flowers blooming all through the fall. One year in October there was a little tired hummingbird sitting on the stem of an Agastache sipping from a flower.
  • At the end of the season, I disassemble all the feeders and soak them in a 10% bleach solution for awhile, then rinse with clean water and let them dry completely. Then I box them all up and store them for next year.
  • Have I forgotten anything?

The cloudy glass at the top of this feeder is simply condensate after the hot water rinse and nectar refill that just happened. Some experts recommend letting the feeders dry completely before refilling, but honestly, even as obsessive as I am, I don’t have time for that!

Wren is very proud of herself after finding Biko so we could bring him in for another cold night.

No AI was used in making this post! Rebecca Solnit wrote recently, “‘The ideal subject of totalitarian rule is not the convinced Nazi or the convinced Communist, but people for whom the distinction between fact and fiction (i.e., the reality of experience) and the distinction between true and false (i.e., the standards of thought) no longer exist.’ ― Hannah Arendt, and people who share AI slop are those ideal subjects. You all have the capacity to not do this. To choose to value the distinction and not to help break it down.”

Her Ninth Life?

Sep1

“This is the second happiest I’ve ever been to see you,” I told Topaz, as I returned to the yard after searching the woods this morning for her little corpse. She didn’t come home last night, which is highly unusual. I was grateful for knowing that she’s well-camouflaged, and survived a month in the wilds a few years ago after she was accidentally kidnapped. Wren and I walked the southeast quarter of the woods within a thirty yard radius, out the front gate and around to the east gate. I was grateful for equanimity and patience. I refrained from shrieking her name incessantly as I did that other time, for days. I wasn’t convinced she was dead this time, but even if she was I was able to accept it: she’s been pampered for ten years, getting her way pretty much every minute of her life, and I tell her I love her every time she walks out the door.

We came in the gate and checked out the pond end of the yard to see if she might be down there, alive or dead. As I headed back up to the house, she came sauntering toward me. It was the second happiest I’ve ever been to see her. This may be her ninth life, but I’m grateful it didn’t end last night. During the time of uncertainty, I remembered Stellar finding her brother’s remains; remembered the wrenching emptiness during her unauthorized journey; remembered her catcussion; and I also remembered stroking her back gently as she stood at the door last night, reminder her to come back to me as I do right after I say “I love you,” and before I say “No birds.” I remembered that my aspiration is to treat her always as if I may never see her again, every time I say goodbye; and that this is an excellent aspiration for any interaction with any being, ever: tenderness and kindness, just in case it’s the last time, because it could be, any time.

I let her inside and fed her, and she slept the whole rest of the day. Wren and I hung out at the pond a little while, where she hid in the rushes to avoid the pesky wasps. They’re everywhere. Sucking the hummingbird feeders dry, and always one circling ominously any time I sit still outside, whether at the pond or on the patio, where I’m spending a little time each day shooting hummingbirds.

Wild Things

May25

I’m grateful for the kindness of neighbors this weekend. I needed to borrow bacon for Zoom Cooking with Amy, so I called over to Pork Central and while I was there picking up bacon I borrowed a hummingbird feeder. I had to take down the oriole feeder they were using because the holes are too big and too many native bees were drowning in the nectar; these hummers are territorial, and kept coming back to the empty hook admonishing me.

The honeybees have arrived at last, en masse, to bring the pink honeysuckle to buzzing life.

Today I realized I wouldn’t have enough bird seed for the new feeder to last until the sacks I ordered from Grand Junction arrived, so I called the Hitching Post in town to check their holiday hours. “We’re actually closed today and tomorrow,” she said, “but what can I do for you?” I told her I was out of bird seed and I thought they were feeding babies, but they could wait a couple of days. She said she’d be downstairs for a little while if I wanted to come get some. This great little store I’ve mentioned before, always has one of anything you could possibly need, and they were so generous to open for a moment for me today. I thanked her profusely, and gave her a hunk of Teddy Roosevelt clove cake I’d baked last night when I picked up the seed.

I’ve been grateful watching the frogs’ eggs develop day by day, the little black blobs taking the shape of tadpoles. My calculations were off, though: I didn’t expect them to start hatching until tomorrow, but they actually started Thursday night. I spent all day Friday watching and filming, and got a good first-sunburn-of-the-season to show for it. Since then I’ve been wearing long sleeves, and watching in awe as the egg mass empties one cell at a time.

The tiny tadpoles break free of the mass and spin around for a minute before latching onto the curly rushes with their tiny teeth. Over the past few days one nest has emptied almost completely, and the other larger nest is more than halfway done hatching. Video to come.

I’m grateful for sunshine on red flowers in the dry woods. The other evening this patch of scarlet gilia caught my eye as we walked toward home on the Breakfast Loop. Then this evening we chose to walk the Medium Loop to the canyon, and a flash of red drew me up off the trail into a cactus patch.

The prickly pears aren’t blooming yet but the claret cups are! It feels early, they used to bloom in June. In just the few moments after my first glimpse from the trail, clouds moved in and shadowed the flowers’ glow by the time I reached them.

Along the rim the little buckwheats are in bloom. Most of them are cream colored but there are a few with this sweet rosy hue. And farther along, another sunlit glimpse, another cluster of claret cups peeking out.

By the time we reached the cactus patch along the main trail home, the one I always try to catch in bloom, the sun had dipped low behind deep clouds. But now I know they’re all blooming I’ll be out again tomorrow chasing that little thrilling flash of red through the trees.

A mystery encountered: many small limbs broken off a young piñon pine. I didn’t stop long enough to look for tracks or fur, but I’ll check again well before dusk tomorrow. It doesn’t look like buck damage but it could be; or it could have been done by a bear. Or who knows? The forest is full of wild things.

A Spring Stroll

Apr24

Beautiful tulips in the garden this morning. After working most of the day, we set off into the woods for an aimless ramble, which I haven’t felt steady enough to do for more than a year. We broke from the main path at the bottom of the first hill, and then meandered along various deer trails, up and down, over a few logs, at a slow, contemplative pace. It was blissful.

Like icing on the cake, as we neared the house again at last, I spied the first Indian paintbrush in bloom, right on schedule. The hummingbirds won’t be far behind! This has been a reliable indicator of their arrival for as long as I’ve lived here. Time to get the feeders out of storage and mix a batch of nectar to be ready when the first one arrives. Remember, if you feed hummingbirds, clean the feeders with hot water, or hot water and a very dilute bleach solution: don’t use soap. Don’t use metal feeders as those can injure tender tongues. And never use store-bought nectar, red nectar, red dye: just use 1 part granulated sugar to 4 parts boiled water and stir until completely dissolved. Let the nectar cool completely before filling feeders. Yes, it takes time, thought, care, and attention, but there are so many things that can go wrong and hurt those tender living jewels that it’s worth doing right.

Wren loves that it’s time to find Biko again every evening. She can hardly wait to get out the door before she races around the whole yard looking for him, and then she tells me when she’s found him.

Hummingbirds

Jul24

So many things are different this year than in the past. This is the first year that the hummingbirds have thronged my feeders as they do some neighbors’. It’s a treat to sit out under the umbrella in the mornings before it gets too hot, and watch their aggressive acrobatics: It’s not like there isn’t plenty to go around, just that they’re so territorial. I’ve tried to upload a video where even more of them are buzzing the feeder, but the poor network connection that thwarted this upload last night also prevents the video from uploading tonight. Oh well.

I’m also grateful for leftovers! The two salmon cakes leftover from the vineyard Saturday night made a fantastic sandwich yesterday with mayo, dill pickle relish, red onion, and sprouts, with some Penzeys ‘sandwich sprinkle’ for seasoning.

I made up for no cheese on yesterday’s sandwich with extra Havarti on todays, along with avocado, sprouts, red onion, and mayo. Honestly, even after years obsessing over ‘the cheese sandwich,’ I am even more in love with its variety and potential than ever. And also more in love with this silly little dingo than ever.

And I’m still and always in love with the poetry of Mary Oliver, and grateful for my Portland sister who sent me this poem just as I came online tonight to share this post. Someone sent it to her, and she said “it made me think of you.” There is no higher compliment. I’m sure it was “The phoebe” that clinched it for her, though she knows me well enough to know that everything else in it is also me to a T, and I’m grateful to her for seeing me.

…one last try and it’s up!

A Provocative Guest

May15

I’m grateful for a thought-provoking guest. A college friend stopped by on a cross-country drive, and I was grateful to be able to walk to the canyon with him, cook him a real dinner, and serve him cake and coffee in the morning back at the canyon before he resumed his travels. He is a kind, considerate, honest, caring man. We talked nonstop while he was here, reminiscing about our college years, asking each other about our present lives and the years between, covering deep topics of life and death and God and Buddha.

He asked me how I came to Buddhism, and I asked him how he came to be a born-again Baptist. Our world-views are quite different, and I was so grateful for the mindfulness practice that allowed me to keep an open heart and open mind as we talked, enabling me to listen deeply to his experience and beliefs without judgment, and deepen our connection. Our conversation has caused me to revisit some questions I’ve been coasting with for awhile: What exactly do I believe, and why do I believe it? He was an easy, open person long ago, comfortable to be around, and he remains so today. There were moments during our visit of teary tenderness, and moments of light laughter.

The serviceberry is in flagrant bloom along the canyon.

He recalled some things about our college years that I had forgotten, and vice versa. One memory he resurrected for me was how we used to tap on the wall between our rooms in freshman dorm to communicate. Sometimes it meant ‘meet outside,’ sometimes it summoned us to the windows where we made plans from our third story rooms. He was recently diagnosed with MS, and we talked a lot about the trajectory of his symptoms, and some strange symptoms I’ve been experiencing. He still works as a nurse, and encouraged me to see a neurologist. That’s been on my list anyway.

This spring has brought more opportunity than ever to surrender: to the lush green carpet of weeds through the yard and woods, to the bad grass I battled for years, to the prolific catmint I’ve tried to control; and to the process of my own physical aging and mortality. I’m grateful for equanimity and the relief of surrender.

I’m grateful for the Dr. JB hummingbird feeder that my sister Chris gave me a few years ago. It’s so easy to fill and clean, and it seems to be their favorite . I texted her this picture to tell her so, and she reminded me to get rid of any feeders with metal holes: they can lacerate the birds’ beaks and lead to infection and death. I had not known that, and promptly removed my one metal feeder and threw it away, ordering another Dr. JB to replace it.

Spring Flowers

Apr27

I’m grateful for spring flowers, in the garden and in the forest. Like clockwork, I heard the first hummingbird yesterday, only a day later than usual, and this afternoon saw the first paintbrush bloom which must have opened yesterday: the two events invariably synchronize.

I’m grateful for all the green resulting from the banner winter water… but only in the fields. This lush green carpet is entirely made of two noxious weeds: bur buttercup, the lighter green; and weedy alyssum. The alyssum is annoying when it goes to seed, while the bur buttercup is downright hostile. Soon Wren won’t be able to stand on it, when those precious tiny blossoms turn to hard round stickers.

In the meantime, we rested on a bench under the Ancient One, and then strolled home. I’m grateful for her happy ignorance; we both enjoyed the balm for the eyes when I could shelve my awareness of what this forest floor will become in the hot dry summer. At least some native grasses will have a good year.

And in the yard? Oh my. Again, it’s pretty now, but in a week or so I’ll be mowing daily until I get these weeds under control. So though I’m grateful for many things today, green is not one of them, not really. In fact, looking at these weeds makes a little sense out of the nightmare I woke from this morning, where I had spent hours crawling through one obstacle after another trying to find clear sky.

Topaz doesn’t give a damn. She’s just happy, and so am I, that we can go sit down by the pond again at last, and listen to the frogs.

I’m grateful for another day alive, and grateful I was patient with a handful of quotidian frustrations; grateful for a wonderful MIR meeting despite skippy internet and thankful for the warm support and acceptance of the group. And I was glad to wrap up the day with a delicious spontaneous ginger-ice cream sandwich to take the edge off the melancholy that has dogged me since that disconcerting dream, and hit hard this evening when I came across some photos of Stellar in his last spring.

This Week in Pollinators

Sep16

I’ve been grateful this week for lots of rain to nourish the earth, replenish the aquifer, water the garden. And I’ve been grateful for plenty of sunshine and busy pollinators stocking up before they slow down, perish, or leave for winter.

Flowers

Aug16
A possibly better shot of the sleeping sunflower bees taken by the husband camera rather than the iPhone. I’m grateful for a computer upgrade that has allowed me to process the husband’s photos again after a software drought all summer.

I’m grateful for some time with my husband camera over the past weekend, and for the flowers blooming in the yarden. Not so many nor so profusely as in past years, but still plenty for the birds and bees that are here. It is alarming that I haven’t seen several species of native bees that were common a couple of years ago. But I’m grateful for the few bumblebees and honeybees I see, and for the sunflower bees. And for this red-bellied wasp. Too tired tonight to look her up, and can’t remember if I know her name. We all know how that is.

Grateful for the wild cleome (Rocky Mountain beeplant, an old favorite) that seeds itself. I pluck the easily identifiable seedlings early in the season where I don’t want them, and let them grow where I do. I always let plenty of them grow for the bees and hummingbirds, all of whom love it.
Grateful for a thriving snapdragon crop for the bumblebees and sphinx moths.
And grateful for the red salvia the hummingbirds love, and the hummingbirds who love it.

Scarlet Runner Beans

Sep4
I was grateful first thing this morning, and pretty much all the rest of the day. Stellar was excited to walk to the rim, barking his intention as he waited for me outside. Aprés walk, we enjoyed a chocolate croissant.

I’m grateful the scarlet runner bean vine is finally taking off. Hammered hard by deer outside the fence, they struggled to gain many blooms. Once the wild sunflowers grew up they provided a barrier to the voracious does, and the vine was able to blossom. I planted eight seeds: only one of them sprouted. Look at her now!

I planted it for the hummingbirds, and finally was in the right place at the right time today to catch a few enjoying the nectar. The first one checked me out before feeding on the flowers. Thereafter they ignored me. I am grateful for intrepid little hummingbirds.

I’m grateful for scarlet runner beans, and grateful I had some time today to sit with and appreciate them in their flourishing glory. I’m grateful for the gentleness of this day just passed, mild ambient temperature, flowers all around, abundant harvest of tomatoes and tomatillos, joyful energy expended in the kitchen canning and cleaning. I’m grateful for finding support this evening in being with the excruciating awareness of life’s vivid, finite beauty.