By Tom Poland
I look forward to fall’s crisp air, college football, and colorful foliage, but with the good comes the sad. Hummingbirds take leave of us.
It’s been a good hummingbird season. I’ve had many visitors to my feeders, far more females than males. All swoop and squeak as they battle for a seat at the table. In an era when some harbor delusions of a unified, world order, that will never happen. Families can’t even get along, and it’s long been that way. You know that old saw, “You can choose your friends, but not you family.” Families fall apart for various reasons, some silly, some serious.
This hostile existence extends to hummingbirds. Like fifth-generation fighter jets they engage in dogfights, squeaking and darting about as their feathers clash like a new deck of cards being shuffled. All summer two females went at it. Then about two weeks ago they signed a truce. Each would sit on the same feeder as far apart as possible warily eyeing each other. When one ate, the other ate. When one looked up, the other looked up. Both flew away at the same time in their choreographed truce. Now and then a luckless male would dart in and in a self-serving alliance the females sent him packing. He was my first hummer to head to Mexico or Central America, wherever he overwinters.
It’s work. All spring and summer I keep my feeders full of fresh nectar water. I don’t mind the work, but I do mind the squirrels who raid my feeders spilling sugar water everywhere, their sticky mess attracting ants, bees, wasps, and other opportunists.
A few consider hummingbirds too much work, all that preparation of nectar water, changing out the feeders and keeping them clean. It’s worth it. The little birds put on a show, one of nature’s spectacles. When you think about it, a good many people have little contact with nature, but hummingbirds fill that void.
If there’s a downside, it’s guilt. Making an extended trip, say a week at the beach, makes me worry the feeders will go dry while away. The day I leave, I fill the feeders to the brim. I hang them where the sun and squirrels have a hard time reaching them. The shade minimizes mold, but outwitting sugar-craving squirrels is nigh impossible.
Hummers and their high jinks make good conversation starters. One lady told me she pins trumpet flowers in her hair and trains hummingbirds to circle her head. Her reward? A crown of glittering feathers. She showed me a video as proof. I’ve seen videos too of hummingbirds feeding from people’s hands via ring feeders, a ring with a red plastic flower on it. The directions state: “Train your hummingbirds to feed from the ring by placing it in the Trainer and Ring Rest and use the Ring Feeder Easy Fill Syringe to fill the ring with just the right amount of nectar. Once hummingbirds are feeding from the ring, simply place it on your finger and wait for the action to begin.” Marketing literature. You know it won’t be that easy.
I’ve had hummers hover before my face as if they have a message, and sometimes they do. The ant trap is dry. A rogue squirrel has knocked the cover slightly askance. Get rid of that mold. Trim back the shrubbery.
All things considered, I enjoy hummers, and it’s a sad day when the last hummer flies south. I can see that day coming. They begin to feed heavily. And then one day, they’re gone. I keep the feeders up but stragglers never come through. I look and hope and hope and look. Nothing. Finally, come November I clean the feeders and put them away until March 26. Soon, I spot the season’s first hummer and the spectacle begins anew. I never tire of it.
