A Few Small Birdy Updates
Reports from the un-skunky field.
I find it a little bit intimidating to go on a wander with specific goals layered atop that implicit, “Show me what’cha got for me today!” deal I keep with the universe, almost daily. Looking for specific things, you see, may mean looking past others, bits of hope and magic that, for whatever reason have set themselves in my wandering path to stir the soup of soul, or perhaps share with others …like you. So mostly I try to keep my senses peeled for any and all comers, and not go out with specific agendas.
“OK, world, how are you gonna blow my mind today?”
That said, I have been giving my ears permission to listen extra carefully for those almost shy, somewhere between informing and scolding sounding clicks and zizzes of female Anna’s Hummingbirds as I walk through the woods. And I have been scanning the intersections of brushy, lichen-y branches, eight to say, fifteen feet off the ground for any slight visual irregularities in hopes of finding one of the tiniest and best camouflaged little nests of any of the woodland’s feather mommas.
Last year I was afforded awareness of five, active hummingbird nests, which I visited, very surreptitiously, every few days, four of which successfully fledged their pairs of ‘littles’ and one, which to my heartbroken chagrin was taken apart by crows who noticed it and waited, sly bastards, until the babies were nearly full grown and within a day of learning to fly away.
One learns to be exceptionally careful about cluing in the crows and jays who love to watch us ‘watchers,’ following our eyes to see what we’re so keen upon, then taking mental notes and playing the long game, waiting for those babies to grow into the biggest, tastiest possible meal. Ughhhhhh! The thought of being responsible for such a slaughter haunts me, and makes me hyper aware of anyone high in some unnoticed tree who may be watching my every move.
Today is Tuesday. On Sunday morning, walking very slowly in the deep woods a few miles from home I spotted my first hummingbird nest of this spring. I followed a vocalizing female from perch to perch and then back to her nest with a pea-sized fluff of white ‘something’ in her mouth. She quickly added this tuft of fluff to the inside of her nest and then settled down onto it, telling me that she has already laid at least one egg, and probably two. (Most mothers will wait to start incubating their eggs until both are there, so that the hatchlings will find their way into the world at approximately the same time, thus giving both a much more equal start in life, leveling the playing field of competition for nest space and food.)
Finding your first active nest feels a little like catching your first fish of any given day. We fishermen refer to this as ‘getting the skunk off,’ which means that now that we’ve caught at least one fish, we will not have been ‘skunked’ in our efforts for the day. Some rivers are very good at delivering a good ‘skunking’ to fisher persons. They are tricksy beings, these rivers and streams, and their fish, well are often quite tricksy, too. There is no shame in being ‘skunked’ by a river and its fish, but there is quite certainly a bit of tension created when one person within earshot ‘gets their skunk off’ while you have yet to elicit even your first rise.
I do not like or ever seek out competitive fishing. I do not like or ever seek out competitive birding either. Ughhhh. Talk about missing the entire point!
That said, having ‘gotten the skunk off me’ by finally finding that first nest, I actually gave myself a little pep talk (yes, yes I do talk to myself in the woods, and I like it), reminding myself that often the first one is the most difficult. I had been scanning the woods for ‘broody’ little hummer females for a couple of weeks, tarrying and conversing with several, but finding no nests.
Twenty minutes and maybe a hundred and fifty yards later, another faintly chittery female flitting from branch to branch, gathering spider silk and or tiny gnats from the bark of a sapling. Then a deliberate ‘zip,’ and another, and then, ‘zoom’ right onto another perfectly concealed little nest, this one sheltered by a windfall, conifer branch canopy, again, maybe twelve feet above the forest floor. Bingo.
So now, two hummingbird nests to check in on (very carefully), within a football field and a half of one another, along one of my favorite morning wanders. Haven’t yet located any Anna’s nests at two of my other most frequent walking places, and may not, it’s hard to say.
But all that standing silent in the woods, kneeling beside Swamp lanterns, looking about and listening closely has clued me in on a Pacific Wren nest that I just haven’t quite located yet and a large, new to my eyes nest clump high on an outstretched tree branch just twenty feet from a very vocal Cooper’s Hawk… Go figure.
Like many of you I’m doing my best to maintain sanity and be a good citizen within a nation whose behavior, currently is among the worst in the world. I try to take in just enough news to remain aware and informed, but draw a hard line there, and then make sure to get outside, rain and cold, or no, to rinse my eyes and ears, my aching heart with sights and smells that call me back to better imaginings.
One can make a meal of such things, feed one’s soul and salve one’s brittle heart.
A few small, birdy updates can totally change one’s day.
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You write with such love about everything you see and experience Dave but sometimes a particular post has the power to go straight to the heart. Not just the photos , stunning as they are, but your awe and respect for nature herself. When she shares these gifts with you they are yours for remembering , but you make them ours as well in your kindness. Kindness seems the wrong word but you know what I mean. Thank you so much. I know I will never get to see such things in reality, it’s a long way from North Lancashire but I can see them each time I read your post..
Thank you for taking us along on these walks, both visually and spiritually.