The Joys of Observing Feisty and Playful Hummingbirds

I make it a point to keep the hummingbird feeder in my porch filled with bright-red nectar. I am not sure how much it helps the intended recipients who nest in the shrubs around my home. There are plenty of myrtles, oleanders and honeysuckles to offer an unending source of energy to these hyper avians.

No, the reason I frequently replenish the feeder springs from a selfish motive: I find the hummingbirds an unending source of joy. Never a dull moment when they are around.

In this time of house arrest forced by the coronavirus, I find more time than usual to observe Anna’s hummingbirds. These birds are a common sight in the Bay Area, particularly during Spring and Summer.

And what I find during the hours of the day surprises me. Pleasantly, I must add. These little bundles of energy are fierce, feisty, and territorial, ready to go to war at a moment’s notice when others intrude into what they think belongs rightfully to them. Opinionated, unpredictable birds are clearly more fun to watch than the meek and predictable kind.

There is this one male Anna that seems to dominate the brood. I see its iridescent pink throat patch (a “gorget” for purists) as it looks up and around stretching its neck. It sits on a perch next to the feeder and looks for intruders tempted to alight on the feeder for a quick sip. There is no mistaking its intention, in the way this neighborhood bully surveys its domain with a glare: “Thou Shalt Not Drink From My Well!” It makes high-frequency chirps – chik, chik, chik - designed to strike terror into the hearts of other Annas. The perch is a loop I wove from wires stringing together decorative holiday lights from the past.

So this is what I see as the sun climbs the sky and then slowly, languorously, begins to descend in the lingering summer days.

The aggressive (but with a benign side as well, as I was to find out later) Anna surveys its surrounding from its perch. Suddenly it takes off in a blur and attacks two Annas hovering near the feeder. Its “do or die” aggression is too much and the two beat a hasty retreat.

Just as suddenly and inexplicably, there is peace and three, sometimes even four, hummingbirds sip nectar from their slots, their long sword-like bills deep inside the feeder.

Within seconds the truce is broken, and a war erupts, with astounding acrobatics and aerial assaults and piercing sounds livening the show.

And so it continues throughout the day, friendship and enmity alternating between Anna’s hummingbirds for reasons hidden from me, and I suspect, from bona fide ornithologists as well.

Why do birds do what they do? It is a profound question to ask, even though the answer will always remain elusive. It is perhaps wiser to observe birds for the sheer pleasure of them, to listen to them, whether singing their hearts out or warning interlopers with high-frequency threats.

In time, some patterns will emerge – some avian variation of Fibonacci Numbers, perhaps - and we will experience a thrilling sense of discovery. 

I can see a pattern emerging for the Anna’s hummingbirds that I am lucky to observe, although I cannot articulate it yet.

No matter. Birds make the earth more hospitable and life more livable. That’s a gift that’s a source of gratitude and grace.

The Long and Winding Trail

We parked the car at the foot of the hills. As soon as we stepped out, a flock of finches flew out of the rosemary bushes and disappeared into the evergreen pear trees. Within moments they reappeared and alighted on the bushes, giving us a view of their yellow breasts and reddish heads and charming us with their playfulness. Against the backdrop of the green hills, they represented the stirring life of spring.

We took to the long and winding trail, savoring each step in the wilderness. The sun peeked from behind the clouds and a misty rain fell as well, but soon it was clear and a light breeze blew, rippling the grass in the meadow. The trail was lined with miner's lettuce, monkey flowers and thistles. Coastal oaks sprouting fresh leaves and laurel and olive trees spread their seductive shadows away from the trail.

Just ahead, we saw a group of wild turkeys meandering along the trail. As we approached, they vanished into the thickets. An eagle, then another and yet another, flew over the trees into the open sky, drifting laterally and then circling and drifting again.

When we came to the familiar opening, we saw the two oak trees within whose encircling leaves we had stood so many times before, listening to the birds. Today, we just looked at them and felt their presence suffuse us. They had grown even more beautiful in all the months that we did not visit but we told ourselves they were glad to see us too. A jay perched on a fallen laurel looked down at the sloping meadow that merged into another trail by which the creek flowed. We moved on.

The wind had picked up speed and the tall grasses rippled with conviction. Wildflowers were everywhere, sorrels and lupines and clovers and a few we didn't know the names of. At one point we stopped to marvel at the grace of the green hills resting against a calm sky. From the undergrowth came bird songs of infinite variety, pure music of earth and sky.

We had never hiked this far up the trail, always resting at the eucalyptus grove from which we could see the valley and the city stretching away in all directions. But we were determined to reach the summit of the skyway trail today. We should have brought some water but the air was cool and the thirst did not pose any challenge. Besides, the creek was not far away, if it came to that ...

We flushed a flock of doves from the underbrush, feeling guilty and thrilled at the same time. Finches, sparrows, jays kept up their twitter nonstop. There had been warnings of wild animal sightings, particularly mountain lions, but the fear only added to our adventure. We came in peace for mankind; that's what we would tell the wild animal were we to encounter one .Surely it would understand and leave us alone.

We were now approaching the end of the trail and soon enough we were there, tired and sweating but also exhilarated.

Along with the regular wildflowers, we were surprised to find many daffodils, tossing and turning just as the famous English poet had come upon them long ago and immortalized them in the poem that we had memorized in our childhood. Must be due to pollination. We didn't see why anyone would plant daffodils here. But then, there is no dearth of lovable eccentrics in this part of the world.

We sat on the worn bench and took in the view. After a while, huge bees began to buzz us, the air thick with them. We had trespassed into their territory. A dove cooed and a jay shrieked. But we had seen what we wanted to see and began tracing our way back.

Near the end of the trail, we met two elderly couples tending to their vegetable patches.

"What are you growing?"

"Oh, just some cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes, squash, peppers and mint."

"Wow, that will cut down on your grocery bill!"

Laughter all around.

The finchess were still there. This time, they stayed in the rosemary bushes, frolicking and singing with abandon.