Mama Hummingbird’s nest is nearly complete—an architectural wonder that’s built of cotton fluff, stringy palm fronds, sticks, seeds, grass clippings and even paint chips, all of which help provide a cushiony, camouflaged home for fragile eggs.
Bit by bit, she ferried these building materials from our flowerbeds and the neighboring hillside, and then stitched everything together with her needle-sharp beak. Note that she’s lashed the nest to the fuschia with spider silk, strong as steel and stretchy enough to hold up to severe weather and her growing hatchlings’ flight simulations.
Meet Aryana, the beautiful hummingbird that built her nest in our front yard fuchsia. Here, the stuff of magic: spider silk, cotton batting, and iridescent feathers. Other stories, too, if you examine it closely.
Hummingbird High-rise
Right before Christmas, Aryana set about building this nest. She pressed nesting materials into the bottom with her tiny feet, and used her torso to help give it a cup-like shape.
It took mama hummingbird ten days to construct her walnut-sized nest. Soon after, two tiny eggs appeared.
I like to think Aryana nests here because Chez Shore is peaceful, and because our gardens are filled with nectar plants and flowers. But the truth is more nuanced, and likely more practical. Instinct no doubt led her (and previous mama hummingbirds) to this very spot because it blends in with the foliage and flowers, and the roof overhang helps shelter her from predators, heavy winds and rain.
Collage credit belongs to Aryana’s “godmother,” Carol Cosper Meadows.
It’s not easy to snap photos into that dark corner –and through the kitchen window, at that. But the opportunity to witness firsthand this unfolding wonder, well. The payoff is huge. I’m learning to rely less on my camera’s Auto Mode, to angle the camera just so and wait patiently for her visits.
Earlier this week, Aryana’s babies broke free of their shells.
Wendy hatched on Sunday; Peter showed up on the scene a day later. I only know this because, while she was foraging for food in one of our flowerbeds, I stretched myself across the top rung of a 6-foot ladder and zoomed in.
Click, click. I pressed the shutter button a couple of times, and then clambered down. I never, ever touch Aryana’s hatchlings, never disturb her nesting habits.
“Miracles on a cloud,” someone called Aryana’s newborns. I can’t remember who, or I’d give them credit. But it sounds about right to me–you, too?
Aryana’s feeding her babies a slurry of nectar & insects
I know it won’t surprise you to hear that I love talking about these winged beauties. I point out the nest to visitors, post hatchling updates on Facebook, Instagram and (less often) Twitter. So indulge me a little while longer, please, while I tell you a related story.
When the dishwasher repairman showed up on Monday, he’d already spotted the little hummingbird nest, camouflaged as it is in that dark, leafy corner.
When I expressed surprise; his smile reached from the corner of his mouth to his eyes. “I always pause to pray before I knock on a client’s door,” Mr. Nguyen told me. “I pray for peace. I pray for my client’s happiness, and for my own.” He went on to say that his customers are sometimes very angry when he first arrives: about being inconvenienced; about the news of the day; about the fact that he’s running behind schedule because he’s spent “too much time” helping another customer. “If I find something beautiful in nature before my clients open the door, I am happy. My smile is God’s smile, and that encourages them be happy, too.”
So magical, the ways in which we’re introduced to kindred spirits. New friendships are carried to us on iridescent wings, and nestle into the cushy-soft spaces of our hearts.
The typical ruby-throated hummingbird is about three inches long. He weighs as much as a penny. That this tiny creature somehow manages a 1,500-mile sprint– in the span of twenty-plus hours, mind you—is miraculous, to say the least.
And still, they embark every year on this seemingly impossible journey. Twice a year, in fact.
With a feather-light touch, Robert Burleigh blends lyrical words with action-packed phrases, charting Tiny Bird’s progress on every leg of this suspenseful journey.
The story opens in a peaceful garden, where “Tiny Bird rests and feeds, / flickering from flower to flower / like an emerald spark flashing in the bright sun.”
Burleigh gives a breathless account of Tiny Bird’s southward trek–down the Atlantic Coast from New England, across the Gulf of Mexico, and into his tropical forest home, where he returns every winter.
“Over the first pounding waves, / it begins its nonstop flight of more than twenty hours. / Can Tiny Bird make it? Many hummingbirds never do.”
From the very beginning, we find ourselves rooting for Tiny Bird’s success. And we are lured deeper into the story with every page.
Drawing inspiration from hummingbirds at a neighbor’s feeder, renowned artist Wendell Minor uses watercolor images to help lift Tiny Bird’s story off the page. His paintings move seamlessly between shimmer and shadow, sprinkling symbolism over the realistic contours of a very suspenseful tale.
In this opening scene, for instance, Tiny Bird is basking in the warm autumn sunshine at his rural New England home.
So different, the bright colors and dynamic brushstrokes Minor uses in this scene, where Tiny Bird is dodging a predator…
and the darker, more intense palette of this illustration, where Tiny Bird braves a storm at sea!
In the span of 40 pages, we get a very real sense of Tiny Bird’s strengths and vulnerabilities. We come to appreciate his persistence. We are awed by his outsized courage. From takeoff to landing, we get the full measure of a hummingbird, and the magnitude of his journey.
My own garden is a year-round sanctuary for Allen’s hummingbirds—homebodies that build nests in our front yard fuchsia, feast in our flower garden, and guard our nectar feeders. They may wander into the neighbor’s yard, but they never migrate. And why would they, when the California sunshine warms their tiny, iridescent bodies almost every day? Even so, I enjoyed learning about their migration patterns—first, by following Tiny Bird’s amazing journey, and then by thumbing through the “Fun Facts” section and endpapers.
Although its intended audience includes children from 5 to 8 years old, I imagine it’ll be a favorite for kids of all ages. If you want proof, just look at this two-page spread! Here, Tiny Bird is a nearly imperceptible speck in a vast, tumultuous ocean.
It’s a magnificent image, symbolizing everything I’ve come to know and appreciate about this ephemeral creature. Strength, courage, and persistence in the face of adversity… these are traits worth emulating, in times such as this.
There’s an abandoned hummingbird nest in the giant fuchsia out front. Cupped inside, a pearlescent egg that never hatched.
I swallow hard whenever I see it, remind myself, “It’s nature’s way.” But for a brief moment yesterday, I thought about pruning the branch that holds it in place. Out of sight, out of mind? Hardly. But I thought it might clear the space for possibilities.
But then again, our Thanksgiving guests might enjoy seeing this architectural wonder, equal parts spider silk and cottony magic. No longer camouflaged by leaves and flowers, It bears silent witness to the hatchlings it once housed, and to the fledglings who took to the skies during last year’s nesting season.
Left to the elements, the nest will eventually disintegrate. More likely, the fluff ‘n stuff will be recycled by mama hummingbirds-to-be. Like this one, who was sipping nectar in our backyard at sunrise.
Nesting season is almost upon us again–maybe as soon as next week, if we’re lucky!
The light falls slant on my front yard fuchsia, casting a warm glow over the hummingbird nest. It’s cloaked in shadows for most of the day, but this is the bewitching hour.
I climb the ladder I’ve positioned earlier—a bridge between mama hummingbird’s world and mine. Carefully, so I don’t disturb the nest or its inhabitants. Cautiously, so predators won’t track my movements.
“Hello, Luna,” I whisper.
Mama Hummingbird tilts her head toward the sound of my voice. She tracks me with her bright, round eyes, but even when I raise my camera—slowly, so as not to startle her—she rests peacefully on the nursery she’s built for her babies-to-be. We observe each other quietly, taking the measure of each other’s essence. And then suddenly, she zooms toward the nectar-rich flowers behind me, a flash of iridescent wings and feathers.
Two alabaster eggs, smaller than Tic-tac mints, are nestled into the bottom of her little jewel box. Such an honor, to be entrusted with these tiny treasures!
On closer examination, I realize there are three!
This is one of those serendipitous moments I live for–when I find myself in nature’s sanctuary, bearing witness to something as magnificent as this. Something as rare as a Super Blue Blood Moon, or perhaps three, pearlescent hummingbird eggs. A still, small voice says “Look!” And when I soften my gaze, the veil between heaven and earth is lifted.
Well now. Looks like mama hummingbird’s granting us another bird’s-eye view of her nursery!
I don’t know when she laid her eggs, but I suspect it was shortly after she put the final touches on this nest–very likely, a few days ago. Hummingbird incubations typically last about 14-16 days, but since we’re having a cooler weather (low to mid-60s), the hatchlings might wait a while longer to poke their beaks through their shells.
We’ve lived at Chez Shore for almost four years now, and in that time, we’ve watched lots of hummingbird mamas build their walnut-sized nests in this sheltered alcove, right outside our front door. Their instincts must tell them it’s a safe place to be. Tucked into the furthest reaches of this “Thalia” Fuchsia, their nests are well-camouflaged. The tile roof is a barrier against winter storms.
Look closely: Can you spot her nest in this leafy nursery?
A quick note of reassurance: I took these photos at a safe distance–at least 10 feet from the fuchsia. The nest is about 10 feet above ground.
Aryana, a non-migrating Allen’s hummingbird, built her nest in the fuchsia that grows along my front walkway, way back in December. And here we are, celebrating her fourth brood of the 2015-16 mating season.
Such a good mama: she camouflaged her nest among the foliage, and protected it from predators by sheltering it under a tiled roof overhang.
We named this pair of hatchlings Rain and Beau, in honor of the Orlando nightclub shooting victims, “because love is love is love is love…” And you already know how much I adore these tiny harbingers of hope.
Rain hatched 23 days ago, and Beau broke free of his shell the day after.
At the time, they looked like tiny raisins with stubby orange beaks.
But they quickly grew pinfeathers, and their beaks grew long and dark.
Mama Aryana fed them slurry mixtures of nectar and insects, and before long, they were fighting for space inside their cushy-soft nest.
While Aryana was off foraging, I climbed a very tall ladder to observe these wee little miracles and the architectural wonder that they inhabit. I never interfered with Aryana’s nesting habits, never touched her cottony treasurebox or the tiny jewels it protected.
I used a zoom lens and my camera settings to get close-ups, which make the hummingbird babies seem much larger than they really are. They also make this tape measure appear closer to the nest than it actually is. Mama hummingbird trusted me with her babies–a privilege and an honor that I’d never violate.
I snapped this photo just shy of three weeks post-hatch. Notice their their needle-sharp beaks and shimmery wings? They’re looking more like adult hummingbirds every day.
And at 23 days post-hatch, Rain and Beau are perched on the nest rim, flapping their wings and pointing their beaks toward parts unknown.
I’m snapping photos from my front porch now–stretching my camera to its limits, but I don’t startle them into fledging early.
As my friend Priscilla Sharp said, “It looks like they are sitting in a classroom, paying close attention, absorbing all the lessons from unseen teachers to prepare to go out into the world.”
An occasional ocean breeze wafts into the sheltered alcove, ruffling their iridescent wings. Teased forward by Mother Nature’s nudging, they seem ready for lift-off. But for now at least, they’re holding tight to the nest with tiny talons. Won’t be long, though, until whoosh! Off they’ll go.
It was still dark this morning when I snicked the front door open. Just a sliver, mind you–I didn’t want to startle the remaining hatchling, but after two solid days of pounding rain and intermittent winds, I worried that she might be cold and wet. But there she was: cozy as could be inside her dry little nest. How wise Walela was, to have built their cushiony home under a roof overhang!
(This set of two pictures comes from yesterday’s photo session. I didn’t get pictures of Jennifer in the nest this morning.)
Not an hour later, my husband called me to the door. The nest was empty! I grabbed my camera and snapped a picture. Just one, inadequate though it might be, to honor the nest that served Walela and her brood so well.
I lowered my camera to my side, and stood silent for a few minutes longer. And here’s where the magic happened, as it so often does when we’re willing to stay in the moment…
Jennifer returned to the fuchsia plant and perched herself on the slimmest of branches! She must’ve sensed Walela’s whirring approach, because with one eye focused on me, she turned her head and opened her beak.
I didn’t capture the feeding itself, but seeing as how I’ve posted so many pictures and videos, here and on Facebook, I’ll bet you can easily imagine it in your mind’s eye by now.
A small part of me is sad, of course. Who wouldn’t be, after cheering them on, for days on end? But more so, I’m celebrating. It rarely happens that both hummingbird hatchlings survive from egg to fledge, so I’m thrilled to know that Sunshine and Jennifer beat the odds.
The Phoebe Cam is fully operational again–hurry, come see!
Phoebe's* been zipping around her rose bush this morning, practicing her take-offs and landings. Last year's nest is completely refurbished, and it looks like she'll be laying new eggs really soon…
*I should mention here that this may or may not be the Phoebe we've come to know and love. By way of explanation, here's what the site operator had to say: "It is too difficult to determine who it is from season to season. By choosing to occupy the rose bush [the nest builder we're seeing here] agrees to be called Phoebe of the manor."
As an ardent admirer of these birds–and now this book–I am delighted that so many of you chimed in. I printed your names onto strips of paper, and then folded each entry into a set of wings. Then I nestled them into my favorite page of HUMMINGBIRDS. (Can you guess the image I liked best?) Eyes averted, I drew these names:
Congratulations! Once you’ve sent me your postal addresses via email, I’ll pass them along to the publisher (Charlesbridge), who’s providing 5 copies of HUMMINGBIRDS as prizes. Such a generous gift, and you’re the lucky recipients!