Hummingbird Café

written by

Paula Glauber

I had all but given up ever seeing another hummingbird in our backyard.  The winter had been long and very cold, discouraging me from venturing out to our watermelon crepe myrtle where, in past years, hummers hung out and chit chatted in their chit chatterie way.  By mid-April our weather had relaxed a bit and we started seeing more sun than gray, so I trotted out onto the deck to release the feeder’s suction cups from our bedroom window.

I really couldn't blame the poor hungry hummingbirds for avoiding such an unappetizing café.  The neglected feeder was a breeding ground for hummingbird ecoli, if such a bird disease exists. The remaining remnants of nectar were nothing but crumbling bits of black mold.  A few ant carcasses floated in the bowl and one perch was missing altogether.  I gingerly popped the feeder off the window, dropping one of the suction cups into the Star Jasmine growing below.  I stepped off the deck into the Jasmine and carefully explored the vine until I spied the suction cup. 

I keep a few spare feeder parts in my gardening shed, and was fortunate to have a replacement perch for the feeder.  The man at the Bird Store had told me when I bought the feeder, that it was top rack dishwasher safe, so I placed it in the rack, put in some soap and started the dishwasher (empty but for the pitiful plastic hummingbird feeder).  I get a little squeamish about washing our dishes with some yet to be discovered bird flu.

While the feeder went through its cleansing, I boiled water for a new batch of nectar.  ¼ Cup cane sugar to 1 Cup boiled, cooled tap water.  While the water cooled I gave the window a good washing so the suction cups would stick securely.  Feeder filled, window cleaned, suction cups in place.  Diner “Open”.

I hurried inside to watch from my bedroom window.  There was no line out front of the feeder, no bellying up to the perches.  Alas, it appeared that the word was out on the wires that this canteen was closed for good.

 

After a few days of boycotting, however, the chatter was on and the hummers were vying for a spot at the feeder.  Seemed like the leader of the pack was Bill, a big bully of a hummer I’d seen the previous spring.  He was followed closely by Humm Baby, Chrome Dome, and Red Neck.  Doesn’t everyone name their hummingbirds?

Once the Hummingbird Café was once again in full operation, the patrons made no apologies for scolding me with their clickitty bird gripes when the feeder ran low.  They dived past me like miniature helicopters practicing war maneuvers. 

Isn’t that just like us with our Provider?  We are happy as long as we’re fed.  As long as the supplies don’t run out, we’ll hang around taking everything we can get.  But, if our Supplier doesn’t move quickly enough, or give us just what we ask for, we complain and sometimes even abandon our perch.   And as if that’s not bad enough, we chatter to all our friends about how neglected we are; how we’re forgotten and no longer cared for.  Maybe we should look to the cold, hungry stretches in our lives as a time to anticipate a new batch of nectar.