hummingbird nest 2015

Rain and Beau take to the skies

June 30, 2016 by Melodye Shore

Treat yourself, why don’t you, to our hummingbird hatchlings’ pre-fledge antics. Watch as Rain helicopters above the nest, hovers mid-flight, and manages a graceful landing on a twig beside the nest. Beau’s feathers get ruffled, but he looks on with rapt attention. Aryana chirps in the distance, as if to say, “Come into the garden, kids–let’s play!”

Not long after I filmed their playtime, Rain zipped off to join Aryana in the flowerbeds. Beau surfed the ocean breezes, hanging ten on the rim of the roomier nest.

See the shadowy “beard” on Beau’s chin? That’s a simple way to differentiate a juvenile hummingbird male from its female counterparts. Rain has white-tipped tail feathers, instead.

I revisited the nest before dinnertime, and voilà!

The nest is empty now, but my heart is full. I’m grateful for Aryana’s mothering instincts; thankful, too, for the fuchsia that camouflaged and provided shelter for three successful broods.

I also appreciate everyone who gathered around Aryana’s nest with me, watching her tiny eggs crack open, revealing featherless hatchlings that grew overnight, it seemed, eventually sprouted gossamer wings and needle-shaped beaks.

And yes, I’m glad for this schoolbus-yellow ladder. I’ve climbed it again and again with my camera, over the past several months…

…receiving firsthand the gifts that come of observing up close those tiny jewels of the sky.

Rainbows, flights of fancy, shimmery magic, and Mother Nature’s sensibilities: I’m grateful for this embroidered tapestry, stitched on my heart by a charm of hummingbirds. You, too?

Rain and Beau: Baby hummingbirds, about to fledge

June 29, 2016 by Melodye Shore

Until you spread your wings,

You’ll have no idea how far you can fly.

(Unknown)

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.

Faith, trust, and a little pixie dust

February 20, 2016 by Melodye Shore

So much has changed since we last talked about Aryana’s hummingbird hatchlings on this blog. In brief: Within the span of 24 days, Wendy and Peter broke free of their eggshells, sprouted feathers and needle-sharp beaks, and took to the skies on iridescent wings.

I’ve already posted countless pictures on Facebook and Instagram, because…#bragbook. But from the online album my friend Carol Meadows so graciously curated, I’ve culled a few of my favorites. Pull up a chair, and I’ll tell you all about it…

When they first hatched, a Facebook friend suggested they looked like plump raisins with candycorn beaks. They were roughly an inch long, and were less than 1/3 the heft of a U.S. dime. But look how much they grew and developed, in just 2 weeks!

Even when their peepers hadn’t fully open, they sensed their mother’s approach.

Aryana was a whirring blur of motion. No surprise, given that she had two mouths to feed, and a nest to defend against fluff-snatching rivals. I actually saw a female hummingbird snatch a wad of cotton from Aryana’s nest; but before she made her way clear of the fuchsia, Aryana was in hot pursuit, scolding and dive-bombing her like a fighter jet.

On very rare occasions, she cozied up to her brood in the nest. Even then, she was watchful.

In that shaded alcove, Aryana’s babies were relatively safe. They were shielded from the elements and well-camouflaged. But when the afternoon sun brightened that dark corner, she used her body to shield them from eagle-eyed predators.

Wendy and Peter grew bigger by the hour, it seemed, and looked more like their mama every day.

As their bodies expanded, their walnut-sized home seemed to shrink. But the nest held fast, thanks to the magical properties of spider silk, one of the building materials Aryana instinctively knew to use.

While their mama was away, the hatchling flapped their wings (wingercizing, some called it), and watched the skies for her return.

Aryana seemed unfazed by my presence, mainly because I was quiet and unobtrusive. Once they were moving around more, she even allowed me to record a short video.

In the blink of an eye, it seemed, Aryana’s babies were ready to make their way into the world. Wendy flew away first, leaving her younger brother more room in which to spread his wings.

It wasn’t long before Peter got the urge to follow her. Here’s what that final push looked like.

“Never say goodbye,” said Peter Pan, “because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”

I saw both hatchlings take to the sky. Sheer magic, like few people ever get to see in their lifetimes! And just so you know how rare and wonderful this really is: researchers estimate that only 17-59% of a nest’s inhabitants actually make it from hatching to full feathering and fledging.

We’ve hosted several hummingbird families at Chez Shore now. Blessings though they may be, they sometimes revealed to us the darker, seemingly cruel aspects of nature. But on the whole, their stories had happily-ever-after endings, same as Wendy and Peter’s.

They’ve flown the coop, but they haven’t gone far. Aryana’s watching over them in our garden, showing them the best food sources (including but not limited to “her” window feeder), and teaching them how to find/defend their new territory.

A couple of days ago, I was trimming the sweet potato vine in our side yard. A hummingbird whirred past my ear and landed on a nearby branch. It watched me work for a long while, tilting its head and cheeping. Most likely, it was Aryana or one of her fledglings. Heartwarming epilogue, am I right? But lemme also tell you about the task I’ve been avoiding. To wit: those teensy birds spattered a huge (yuuuuge!) mess o’ poop on the stucco walls that surrounded their tiny nest. The Crap They Leave Behind: let’s include that chapter title in a book for ‪Empty Nesters‬.

Ringing in the New Year, 2016

January 2, 2016 by Melodye Shore

Another turn of the calendar page, and here we are, standing at the threshold of 2016. We had a quiet celebration, here at Chez Shore. No fireworks, no champagne flutes at midnight…we just reveled in each other’s company, and that of longtime friends. After dinner, we hiked to a beautiful vantage point, not far from our home. We watched in awe as the sun extinguished its fire in the Pacific Ocean, but not before putting its final punctuation mark on the year.

I’ve been reflecting today on the highlights of 2015, while also imagining the possibilities for 2016. No, I’m not planning to write a formal list of New Year’s resolutions–an illustrated journal page is more my style. In 2015, for instance, I created a collage of sorts for the word SUSTAIN, a multi-faceted theme that I oftentimes referenced.

I haven’t yet settled on a word for this year, but from my 2015 catalog of pictures and blogs, I pulled together a brief retrospective. Here, some of the myriad people and events that sustained me last year. I invite you to revisit those special moments with me, and to consider how we might respond this year to Mary Oliver’s question:

Tell me…

10968438_10152723171707183_390139283008179685_n

Oh Happy Day! Harlem Gospel Choir workshop & onstage performance (February)

What is it you plan to do…

His Holiness, XIV Dalai Lama talks about compassion, on the occasion of his 80th Birthday Celebration (July)

With your one…

Leaf-peeping in history-steeped New England, and the singularly successful book launch of Jeannine Atkins’ LITTLE WOMAN IN BLUE, a novel about May Alcott (October)

Wild…

A well-nourished leopard guards his “prey,” at the Exotic Feline Breeding Compound and Conservation Center (April)

And precious…

This ray of sunshine, also known as my grandson (August)

Life?

A backyard metamorphosis, from caterpillar to chrysalis to winged beauty (June)

Wishing you a joyful 2016, in which your relationships nurture and inspire you, and every day’s a grand adventure.

(Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? was excerpted from Mary Oliver’s hugely popular poem, A Summer Day. )

Still, life

March 16, 2015 by Melodye Shore

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.

P1100700

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.

SaveSave

Present moment, wonderful moment

March 8, 2015 by Melodye Shore

Breathing in, there is only this moment…

On Friday, Walela’s breathing was effortful…

Breathing out is a wonderful moment.

The first egg in her second clutch.

If we are not fully ourselves,

Two days later, Walela’s breathing is once again labored.

truly in the present moment…

We breathe as one in this moment.

We miss everything. –Thich Nhat Hahn

Finding my voice, and taking wing

February 23, 2015 by Melodye Shore

In you is all of Heaven
Every leaf that falls is given life, in you
Each bird that ever sang… will sing again, in you. —A Course in Miracles

I’m still reveling in my experiences last week with the Harlem Gospel Choir. More to come about that, and soon, but I first need to find adequate words with which to express their shimmering magic.

In the meantime, how about a hummingbird hatchling update?

When last we visited their nest together, the siblings were doing flight simulations. Four days later, on February 19th, I witnessed something rare and wonderful.

Walela’s babies been riding the wind currents all day, hanging ten on the edge of their nest. Whew, scary! If the video’s jumpy in a few spots, it’s because I was more than a little nervous. But when the winds died down, the birds were safely ensconced in their nest, seemingly unruffled by their wild ride.

Later that same evening, I climbed our rickety wooden ladder, cell phone snugged to my ear so I could talk to my sister Sheryll while also snapping a few last pictures before nightfall. Quite the balancing act, I must say, but boy howdy, was it worth the effort!

They were playing a game of do-so-do on their cottony perch, when suddenly…well, see for yourself. The bigger hatchling hovered over its sibling for just a few seconds, propelled itself backward and then soared on tiny wings over the red tile roof that sheltered it, from egg to fledge, in Walela’s nest.

The next morning, our new fledgling had nestled into the birdbath beyond my kitchen window, about 15 feet from its former home. Sheryll called it Sunshine, and that seems fitting for this tiny bird with shimmery feathers. (I took this next sequence of pictures through my front window, so they’re a bit blurry. But oh, are you as happy to see him flourishing as I am?)

Walela’s nurturing her baby while it gets acclimated to life beyond the nest, as mamas are wont to do.

Over the next several days, she’ll show Sunshine how to forage for food and survive on its own in the wild.

Motherhood is hard work!

Hovercraft mama that she is, Walela also watches over the hatchling that remains in the nest, preening its pinfeathers and practicing flight maneuvers on its own.

Here’s what it looked like, the day after its sibling fledged. Lonely, you think?

Walela visits often. I took these snapshots yesterday morning.

We’ve since decided to call her Jennifer (“Jenny”), in memory of Reverend Jennifer Durant, who inspired many, living with ALS as she did–with a featherlight spirit and a heart filled with joy.

She still has a few pinfeathers tucked into her tail, but I suspect Jenny will be taking to the skies sometime today or tomorrow.

No ordinary eggs, these

February 14, 2015 by Melodye Shore

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for a bird to learn to fly while remaining an egg.
We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad. — C.S. Lewis

Walela’s hatchlings are 15 and 17 days old now. *sniff* Time flies, and wow, haven’t they grown?

When they’re not snuggled side-by-side in the nest, waiting for Walela to bring them another meal, they’re flapping their wings and wriggling precipitously on its edge.

This video footage shows them for the survivors they are. It ends on a really sweet note, but given all their daredevil aerobatics, it’s not for the faint-of-heart.

They’ll fledge within a week, so while these flight simulations seem scary to us as bystanders, they are critical to the hummingbird babies’ ultimate survival.

Here’s a shorter, tamer video, for the good eggs among us who might’ve watched only a portion of the first video through splayed fingers. So funny, the way they poke Walela’s chest with their growing beaks, as if to say, “Mom, Mom, is it lunch time yet? Mom?” And see how she preens their pinfeathers at the end?

Rarely this happy to be wrong

February 10, 2015 by Melodye Shore

My heart was heavy when I positioned the stepladder beside the fuchsia plant in which Walela had built her nest. Why had one of the hatchlings died, I fretted, and why hadn’t the mama hummingbird removed it from the nest?

Her nest was steeped in shadow, so I decided I’d wait to take pictures until later in the day. One last look, I told myself when I reached the front door. But when I glanced over my shoulder, I did a double-take.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’ll check again later, I told myself. Wait and observe, as my friend Amy suggested. My knees were shaking when I climbed the ladder again a while later. Here, ensconced in a walnut-sized nest, the very essence of hope.

My hands trembled when I pressed the shutter. Could it be?

You tell me. 🙂

A birthday gift for both of us

February 9, 2015 by Melodye Shore

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding.
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as bird wings. —Rumi

We celebrated my friend Karin’s birthday last Friday by getting together at my house for lunch. “A rare fusion of fluff and majesty,” she’s a peony in my friendship garden.

One of the highlights of the afternoon: Seeing pure, unadulterated joy spread across Karin’s face as she climbed the ladder and peeked into Walela’s hummingbird nest.

And look! Walela took the spotlight in her evening wear, right after she left. Those iridescent feathers rival anything haute couture we might’ve seen at the Grammys last night. Agree?

For reasons unknown to us, the hatchling to the right of the screen didn’t make it. That’s Mother Nature’s doing, and the undoing of some who are fortunate enough to witness miracles like this as they unfold. Of course I’m sad–who wouldn’t be? But I’m comforted by the fact that there’s a greater power at work here, with wisdom beyond our own understanding.

Shadows sometimes fall when we least expect them. But sure as daylight follows night, “Joy cometh in the morning.” Want proof? This little guy just opened his peepers!