For weeks now, I’ve been riveted by this hummingbird drama unfolding on LiveCam. Two chicks were born on January 19th, in Orange County, California. One died early on, but Sassy survived. Here’s a picture, taken by the site host earlier today:
By this time, Sassy should have fledged. But 30 days have passed, and while she’s vigorous, she’s nowhere near ready to fly. A few pinfeathers poke out here and there, but she’s as naked as a two-week-old hatchling. A tiny little thing, she’s 1.5 inches from the tip of her beak to her cute little butt. (In comparison, look at the size and feathering of "my" hummingbirds the day the first one fledged.)
On sunny days, Phoebe perches on the edge of the nest, casting shade over Sassy so she doesn’t get sunburned. And until a few days ago, she nested in the evenings, to help keep her hatchling warm. But Phoebe’s growing tired and thin with the extended effort. She can’t go into turpor when she’s tied to the nest. My heart clutched this morning when she disappeared for well over an hour. Instead of feeding her chick at the usual 15-minute intervals, she’s coming less frequently now. Maybe she knows something we don’t?
Hummingbird experts are monitoring the situation. I can’t tear myself away, either. I’m not alone in watching–visitors from all over the world flock to this site every day, voicing their concerns and cheering Phoebe and Sassy on. I think this is a miracle all on its own–that whatever’s going on in the big, broad world out there, our hearts are all aflutter about two tiny hummingbirds in a walnut-sized nest.
ETA: As I’m writing this, I see an announcement that they’re taking her to a hummingbird rehabber near Disneyland. Oh, I feel that empty nest syndrome coming on! But no matter my own wishes, I put my trust in Mother Nature. In her infinite wisdom, she takes care of her own in ways that we can’t always understand.
