Hummingbird nest

Nesting season begins anew

November 20, 2018 by Melodye Shore

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!

Hope, that thing with feathers…

Nesting Season begins anew

January 21, 2018 by Melodye Shore

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.

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Of hummingbird nests and the Oval Office

January 12, 2018 by Melodye Shore

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.

Flawless in its own right…Beauty that helps offset the ugliness that spilled out of the Oval Office today, betraying the very principles on which our nation was built. #Resist

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Thankful Thursday: The magic of a hummingbird nest

January 28, 2016 by Melodye Shore

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.

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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.

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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.

Holiday Gifts from Mother Nature

December 26, 2015 by Melodye Shore

Ho Ho Ho! Mother Nature gave me some spectacular gifts this holiday season. You, too?

When I stepped onto my front porch, for instance, I realized that a hummingbird’s been ferrying fresh fluff-and-stuff to the fuchsia plant along our walkway. Using her beak as a needle, and spider silk as thread, she stitches the cushiony material to a sturdy branch. A quick whirl of her tail feathers, and voilà! Her walnut-sized home’s beginning to take shape. ‪#‎RoomAtTheInn‬

Just yesterday, I spied a pair of perky ears, lurking behind the low-lying wall in our backyard. Could it be…? Yes! Wile E. Coyote loped along our fence, and then posed for the camera before trotting up the neighboring hillside.

Oh, and hey, did you notice the tender green shoots, poking their heads through the damp soil at his feet? We’ve had lots more rainstorms of late, and the thirsty soil is gulping it right down! Here’s hoping El Niño showers us with bountiful rains this winter, so we’ll have wildflowers aplenty, come springtime.

“Walking in a Winter Wonderland” might suggest snow flurries and hot chocolate to some, but it sings to me of blue skies and sandy beaches.

When sunlight slants through the water just so, the waves sparkle and shimmer like jewels. Nudged by strong currents, they’re capped these days with frothy meringue peaks. You can’t buy holiday treats like this, anywhere! But at Aliso Creek Beach, they’re free for the taking.

Here, the simple joys of the holiday season, accompanied by the ocean’s magnum opus.

The sun sinks below the horizon, and a pair of surfers wash ashore.

Behold! They stand at the water’s edge, in soggy board shorts and dreads. We witness together the grandeur of this moment.

In this season of giving, we’re encouraged also to receive…

Unspeakable joys, for those who watch and listen. Timeless gifts, no proof of purchase required and no expiration date.

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.

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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.

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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?