Little but fierce
An ode to hummingbirds
“Consider the hummingbird for a long moment.”
So begins Brian Doyle’s brief, but lovely essay, “Joyas voladoras.” Over the few short paragraphs, Doyle not only considers the hummingbird, but its heart, along with tortoise hearts, the hearts of blue whales, and those of humans—literally and figuratively.
I’ve been considering hummingbirds myself as the two that visit our feeders each year have returned for the summer. At least—I think there are two? And they might be the same ones? Its hard to tell with these bullets of the sky. I know I frequently see a male and a female, and I know one will perch on the branch of our Japanese magnolia out front, or on the tomato cage under the Southern magnolia in the back, and wait until the other dares to attempt a sip from the feeder. As soon as the advance occurs, the perched bird dive-bombs, and a full-on air battle wages, like fighter biplanes from World War I. Snoopy the Red Baron has nothing on these bombardiers. Sometimes when I’m sitting by the front porch window I hear a thrum, and I know one or two of them have zoomed by, intent on getting a drink or chasing off the other.
The first year we hung the feeders I know three hummingbirds visited regularly, one male with a dark head and ruby throat, and two females with greenish-gray coats and creamy bodices. The kids and I were reading through Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar and Plutarch’s history of the same name that year, so we dubbed our visitors Caesar, Calpurnia (Caesar’s wife), and Cleopatra (of infamy). The following year when a male and female appeared we were working through Dante’s Divine Comedy, so I started calling the birds Dante and Beatrice. There’s something about these tiny, fierce, selfish but beautiful creatures that begs for epic names.
I never tire of watching them. It’s fascinating to follow their chases, to see them zip in for a quick sip of sugar water with wings whirring. But I also can’t help but stare when they come to rest on the tree branch or the rim of the feeder, motionless for a few moments, wings hugged in close. Last Sunday morning it was raining, but one bird still valiantly perched on the tomato cage, feathers floofed out so much it was almost the size of a sparrow. Water dripped from its rapier beak, but still it persevered for the sole purpose of driving off the other when it zipped in for a drink. I’m always amazed to see their stillness—it seems so at odds with their nature. On a recent vacation, my friend Bethany caught a photo of one sitting on its nest—a marvel! Maybe someday they’ll build a nest here where we can see it. But I wonder if these creatures who will sit for minutes, waiting to attack each other, would actually be content to make a match and build a home together. How committed are hummingbirds? Yet if they keep fighting, and don’t get on with egg-laying and chick-raising, who will visit our feeders when their fierce little hearts wear out?
News updates for family and friends:
We’ve finalized Mom Warnemuende’s memorial date for the morning of June 28. Feel free to send me a message if you need more information.
This Saturday, May 17, is a big day for a lot of our Warnemuende family—we wish Mom and Dad could be here for these events! Our oldest niece, Abigail, is getting married in Oklahoma, our daughter Evie is graduating high school here in East Texas, and two nephews and a niece are performing in a musical they’ve been working on for months in Michigan. We like to spread the wealth!
Check out Daughter of Arden at Bandersnatchbooks.com, along with other great titles.
You can find links to more of my writing at A Shaft of Sun Through the Rain and my old blog, Willing, Wanting, Waiting.
Back in Vancouver, we had hummingbirds around our house year-round. My wife hung a feeder outside our kitchen window, and every morning, they greeted us – hot weather or cold, rain or shine. On frosty winter mornings, they would startle me out of my groggy state by hovering in front of the window and chirping at me. That was their signal to tell me the feeder was frozen. They'd wait impatiently while I brought the feeder inside and replenished it with fresh solution. Eventually, I learned to bring the feeder inside at night and then take it back out in the morning.
I, too, love hummingbirds. Their flight astounds me, the way they can hover in place with their wings flapping so fast. I am also partial to goldfinches, which bring me such joy when I see one fly by as I sit on my porch. Such sweet gifts from God.