Too stupid to die…

When I left for the mountains two weeks after the hummingbird chicks hatched in my back yard, I knew I’d likely miss the ending of the nesting drama with Patience and her twins. Unfortunately I was right: I came home to an empty nest. The last picture of the chicks I posted before the trip showed two growing but still very young and pin-feathered baby hummers, baby-bird beaks pointing to the sky, waiting for mom to come feed me! Feed Me! FEEEED MEEE!

And this is what I found on return:

Fortunately for  all who’ve followed this tiny saga, a neighbor was kind enough to tend the garden and keep me posted on the chicks via eMail. Just five days after I left, she sent the latest pictures of the twins. And I was astonished. The scraggly little pinballs had turned into actual birds!  Here are two of her pictures:

Photos by M.C., May 14, 2009

Five days to from pinballs with gaping mouths to recognizable birds – astonishing. No wonder Patience looked so thin the last time I saw her.

The very next day…  best to quote my neighbor’s eMail directly:

I took this [picture below] at about 7:45pm.  Then I stepped back towards the door and stood for a couple of minutes watching from a distance.  Suddenly there was a little buzz – I couldn’t see clearly but I THINK it was mom – then a whirr and a ripple and all three were gone, up to the right and over the wire above the fence.

I’ll keep watch in case they come back for a rest in the next day or two, but I suspect they’re on their way, fledged and capable of feeding themselves.  Certainly they were just as fast as mom!

I’m glad I went down this evening – at least now we know they FLEW away, and weren’t snatched by predators.  –M.C.

Here is M.C.’s last photo of the chicks.

Photo by M.C., 15 May 2009.

Today, a good handful of days back from the mountains, I watch the nest deteriorate – a feather comes undone from Patience’s careful weave, a small twig falls out of place, the once solid structure appears more and more fragile. A friend commented that one rainstorm now and it’ll be gone.

Hope of another tenancy by Patience or another hummingbird seems remote now that summer is here, which in San Francisco means icy cold fogs blowing off the Pacific intermixed with a few hours of cold sunshine and sharp winds. The growth of the cherry tree Patience built her nest in is robust enough that it whipsaws even more jarringly in the winds.

Still, the hummingbird saga isn’t over completely. I hear them in the back yard all the time and see them flitting among the trees during calmer moments. A couple of days ago during a sunny interlude, one came down to get water from the hose as I was spraying the plants. It wasn’t an Anna’s though, like Patience and her brood. This one was bigger and I could actually see the wings move. Maybe another species will take up nesting in the yard next year. I hope so.

What I got out of this small drama, even more than the wonder of experiencing it first hand, is how this minor scene of nature touched so many people as it unfolded. Are we really so removed from the world that the raising of two baby birds from eggs is seen as a small miracle? What does it say about the place we’ve made for ourselves in the world that we view such events not only with fascination but relief?

I’m not letting myself off the hook here; the trip to the mountains was essential for me precisely for the same reason. I spent most my time up there off-road, walking and hiking and driving dirt tracks, trying to get as close to the world – and as far away from what we humans have created – as I could.

What does this say about us? When do we face it?

Photo by M.C., 14 May 2009

More on the hummingbird saga unfolding in my back yard Regular posts will resume soon! (Written Sunday/Monday May 3/4.)

Over the last week Patience the hummingbird has worked dawn to dusk feeding her two chicks. They’re thriving, growing from pea-sized bits of gelatinous gray to wiggly lumps spiked with the beginnings of feathers and an orange beak, all of which still can’t quite fill a teaspoon. Back and forth she went hunting nectar and bugs, feeding the two several times an hour. Often, when I used the hose nearby, she repeated her “request” for water and I obliged by spraying the nearby plants. Her absences allowed me better views of the two little things though I always backed away when I heard her returning buzz. The weather at last cooperated too, with cool days and little wind.

As days went by she seemed less concerned about visitors to the yard, human or otherwise. She expressed no worry at all about Otto or me and ignored the robins, finches and doves. She still wasn’t too pleased with the European starlings bug-hunting below her tree however, and I can’t say I blame her. The starlings are the obnoxious tourists of the bird world, squawking and squabbling, hogging and fouling the bird dish and even bathing in Otto’s drinking bowl. Otto dispatches them whenever he sees them.

I noticed that the chicks don’t peep and squabble or do anything at all while mom’s gone, unlike most other young birds. The nest is not even 5 feet/1.5m off the ground yet you’d never know they were there if you didn’t know where to look. This seemed to me to be just too quiet for any little critter and I wondered if everything was going all right. I found the answer – and many other bits of useful information – from the amazing and exhaustive World of Hummingbirds website. The silence is a safety measure, to ensure that nothing gives their presence away while mom is off foraging. The chicks hunker down deep in their nest and wait until they feel/hear mom’s wings, then perk up for a feeding. Considering how often and long she was gone, this made sense.

By Saturday the 2nd, Patience was almost never around. I saw her feeding the chicks only once during the day. I didn’t think too much about it; I hadn’t been out back much and figured I’d just missed her. Besides, her absences allowed for lots of nest views for myself and others. The chicks had grown to the point that their beaks had lost the baby orange (already!) and were growing into a point. Their bodies were bigger too, taking up over half of the little nest’s depth.

Saturday night when I took Otto down for his pre-bedtime pee, I checked the nest. Still no Patience! I freaked. Yes, the chicks were bigger and it probably wasn’t that comfortable to be sitting on them, but still: they were only as big as a small strawberry. How could they stay warm? I looked around the cherry tree to see if she was sitting nearby, but it was dark and she’d never shown much interest in sitting in it before. I violated a rule I’d set when this back yard episode of  ”Nature” began and went upstairs for a flashlight. Careful not to shine the light directly on the nest, I could see both chicks were quite alive, their metabolisms racing like they’d just run a race. Was this right? Where is mom?

Back upstairs, this time to the computer and the hummingbird website where I found the following:

After one week, the baby hummingbirds will be covered in tiny little fuzzy feathers making them look like a miniature prickly balls. Baby hummingbirds will usually have enough feathers to regulate their own body heat by about nine (9) days after hatching. The mother hummingbird will no longer need to sit on the nest all the time, and the baby hummingbirds are too big for the mother hummingbird to fit.

I checked the calendar. I’d noted the day the eggs were laid and the day they hatched. Saturday was day 10 post-hatch. The next morning the little guys were fine, beaks pointed out of the nest, waiting for their next nectar-and-bug smoothie. And so it goes, even through a gentle rain that has been around for the last couple days. I’ve seen Patience only once more, but her kids are growing fast. Fast. According to the website, she may actually be building another nest nearby so she can do it all over again before the season ends. Amazing. Maybe Patience isn’t that patient after all.

One last bit: according to the website, “toilet training comes built in… baby hummingbirds will do everything they can to dispose of waste over the side of the nest.” I read that after seeing it happen in the flesh, so to speak. I was looking at the pair when one suddenly made a move and raised itself up to the top of the nest. This was more effort I’d seen either of them expend. Once in position – hard to tell what the position was as they still look like spiky lumps with a beak – a tiny squirt ensued then the little bird collapsed back into the nest.  If only we mammals were similarly pre-programmed!

Update: I wrote the above Sunday/Monday. Today, Tuesday, the chicks almost fill the nest and their beaks can’t even remotely fit inside. Like I said, they’re growing fast. Patience couldn’t sit on them any more even if she wanted to. All they do is wait, metabolisms racing, for the next feeding. Oh, and grow. This is the most recent picture. They barely fit in their nest anymore!