Still images can be moving and moving images can be still. –Chien-Chi Chang
Not long after Walela laid an egg in her remodeled nest, her incubation periods became increasingly erratic. I observed her from the front window, so as not to disturb her.
And still, somewhere in that gauzy, cotton-candy pink period of time between dawn and daybreak, last Wednesday–mama hummingbird flew from her nest for the very last time, leaving behind the solitary egg in this, her second brood of the season.
There weren’t any signs of violence or struggle—a fact from which I drew some comfort when I stared out my front door at the tiny nursery, suddenly stilled. But on the off chance that there was something I could or should be doing, I sent a private message to my new friend, Carol Meadows. A former moderator for the world-renowned Phoebe Allens Hummingbird WebCam, I thought she might be able to offer me encouragement; maybe, too, an explanation.
Another hummingbird could’ve chased her away from the nest, Carol said, in which case, other females would steal its cottony fluff. Hmmm, maybe Walela fell sick. It’s certainly possible that she ran into trouble with this heat wave we’re having. But hang on, she might come back!
Or maybe her instincts kicked in, I thought to myself. Maybe she abandoned the nest because she realized her egg wasn’t viable…
Maybe. Possibly. Let’s just wait and see.
Hummingbirds are ephemeral creatures. They soar on iridescent wings, pure magic, pierce the veil between death and survival everyday, with their long, thin beaks. So no, this situation isn’t at all uncommon. But when you’re keeping a close eye on one of Mother Nature’s creatures–and when like-minded people gather around their screens to share your joy in watching one tiny miracles after another take place–well. I know you’ll understand when I tell you it’s been a real challenge to find the right way to share with you the circumstances that occurred last week, beyond my field of vision.
Just yesterday, when I knew for sure that Walela was no longer incubating the egg, I gently scooped it from the nest with a plastic spoon, so as to keep potential predators from homing in on its scent. The nest itself remains intact, save for some plundered fluff, undisturbed by human hands. An architectural wonderment, it bears silent tribute to Walela’s innate mothering skills.
Please forgive me if this next set of pictures offends your personal sensibilities. I mean no harm or disrespect, but given the time for careful reflection — and the rare opportunity for direct observation—I like to take the full measure of things.
Curious by nature, I like to examine things closely, to view things from all angles.
Reflective thinker that I am, I like to compare and contrast objects and experiences, and to challenge what it is that I think I already know.
Impulsive as I can sometimes be, I might also treat myself to a change of scenery, so as to appreciate more fully the wonderment of things, within and beyond their original context.
As someone who cut her wisdom teeth on Bible metaphors, and who is now the proud owner of a time share in Woo-Woo Land, I enjoy doing these things in a way that gets me out of my head and into the moment. Irreverent is good; church giggles are the crown jewel!
Your approach might be different; I respect that. But in all circumstances, whether I’m photographing a nest or writing memoir, I like to show-and-tell the essence of things. It’s the perpetual student in me, I guess; the perennial teacher.
Absent some important facts, the mystery of the abandoned egg (of Walela’s absence) remains unsolved. Here, the unseen hands of Mother Nature, moving as they always do, in grace and wisdom…the hands that guided Walela as she built her nest, and then shielded from harm the brood that successfully fledged.
Earlier this morning, I buried Walela’s egg under the First Love gardenia bush in my backyard, right below the hummingbird feeders.
And still, life. My springtime garden is vibrant, colorful. Birdsong floats through the air on ocean breezes; goldfinches line the fence, waiting their turn at the birdbath. Honeybees hum as they pollinate the salvia; those rascally rabbits still munch the leaves of my roses.
I placed a single white rose atop the freshly-turned earth. It was then that I heard a familiar click-click-click, followed by the tiniest of wind currents and the fluttering of wings.
Life, still. My camera, this storyteller, is ready for the next chapter.
that was all so beautiful, and I’m glad others got to see just how tiny those little eggs are.
And knowing Mama is fine….a good ending.
blessings
Barb
It was deeply moving, to have cradled that wee little egg in my palm, and to see up close just how tiny they really are. No zoom lens necessary, to help bring it closer…such a rare and wonderful experience! It’s an honor, also, to able to share it with you.
I’m sorry about the too-quiet nest and the abandoned egg. Will Walela return to lay more eggs? I hope so. Wait and see… xo
Wait and see is right! Walela won’t return to this particular nest, but she may build a new one nearby. She, or one of the many hummingbird visitors that frequent our yard.
As I said in you post on FB, I suspect this was not a viable egg and she knew it. Probably it had not been fertilized. She raised two beautiful babies. We will celebrate that!! I loved this post and it was wonderful to see your total interest in the nest and egg size. Exactly what I would have done myself. I am just happy to have shared in that wonderful experience of watching Walela’s wee babes grow up and fly into their new world! Let’s hope this drought isn’t too hard on the wildlife in California. At least you can offer all birds water throughout the summer!
She was and is a wonderful mama, and she definitely beat the odds in raising two babies from eggs to fledge. So yes, we’ll celebrate that, plus the fact that, together with so many others, we were able to watch them grow from tic tac sized eggs to full-grown hummers!! I appreciate so much your many comments & your loving concern for Walela and her babies.
We’ll definitely keep our eyes open for new nests. Meantime, I’m going to work on my photography skills so that I can eventually get some good pictures of birds in flight.
So sad to see the little egg abandoned; maybe she’ll lay another.
Your relationship with this Mama hummingbird and her family touches me deeply. Your words and your pictures convey your respect for and awe of nature, and I can clearly tell that you feel blessed by the nest outside your door. Being one of the legions of Mama’s who have lost a baby, I feel sad for the one lone egg that did not survive. But, I also rejoice in the miracle that these tiny hummingbirds exist at all!
The quote at the start of your post and your “Life, still” concept has me thinking . . . what pictures might I take and what story might I have in my life that conveys this concept. Thank you for sharing and put new thoughts in my head.
(((Donna))) I am grateful for your kind words; more so, your courage in sharing your story with me. As a young girl, I learned the value of imagery in conveying an idea, but I’m only just now learning how to put to use my fledgling photography skills to express my feelings. I’m so very glad to hear that they came across in these images, and that they touched you, too.
In updating my website (a work in progress, almost finished), I’ve decided to include a photo gallery. Not because I’m an expert photographer, and most certainly not to sell myself/my pictures as such. But I see so clearly the value of photography as a form of (as a complement to) storytelling. I’ve included six albums on that page, “Still Life” among them. I’m not sure how I’ll fill that album, lol, but maybe we can look to each other for inspiration! (Oh, for a photography walk with you and Candice…)
My respect and admiration for you grows with every word and photo.