I was just a little girl when I was the only one not taking an afternoon nap in the mountains. I wandered a little bit outside but didn't go far. I came inside and stood staring out the sliding glass window.
It was then that I felt chosen. Chosen to be visited and stared at by a mystical little hummingbird.
I recently discovered from a writing exercise about my childhood, that I kept these kind of experiences to myself. It was enough to have felt the mystical visit from the hummingbird. I didn't need to share it. It was as if it would have been lost, like a feather tossed into the wind, if I'd shared the encounter. Perhaps not sharing it is how I've kept it for so long.
But since being chosen on that lazy afternoon so long ago, I've felt an affinity for hummingbirds. After seeing a porch filled with hummingbirds clinging to the edge of feeders filled with red syrup, I bought a feeder and kept it filled for hummingbirds.
We were rewarded for our hummingbird snack bar. One loyal hummingbird adopted us. He was soon joined by a circus of hummingbirds all competing for the red syrup I dutifully refilled and refilled. Even though I never let it go empty, the hummingbirds would fight intensely over rights to partake. They were brutal to one another. I tired of their bickering and attacking.
"No more!"
Fortunately, someone enjoyed their escapades enough to take over the feeder. Tony. I think he's been the head feeder and only feeder for a decade, and each year, the hummingbirds come back for more pampering.
Now that I don't have to feed the little piggies, I quite enjoy their company.
We returned home on a Friday night and Saturday morning while working/reading/playing on the deck, almost directly in front of the empty hummingbird feeder, a lone bird came within a foot of my face. He hovered in one spot--fastidiously spun to another spot, never taking his tiny beady eyes off of me. He darted to another angle.
"Yes, I see you. And I understand you want my attention."
I texted Tony and told him his birds were harassing me and needed to be fed. Tony mostly believed me.
Enough to fill the feeder almost right away.
Today, I was pulling weeds in the garden after a night and day of rain. A hummingbird joined me. Not for long. Just enough to say hello, or to satisfy his curiosity, or remind me that after only a day, the feeder was almost empty again.
The encounters seemed too personal to dismiss so I relied on a google search to see if hummingbirds do in fact know the people who replenish the feeder.
According to the humans who write for the website Backyard Wildlife Connection, they do indeed recognize faces and specifically the people who feed them, based on a study conducted at the University of California Davis. Their brains are one of the largest of animals relative to their body size.
Another website with a vested interest: humming-bird-feeder. com even suggests we speak softly so the hummingbirds come to recognize our voice. The authors also suggest that when hummingbirds hover near you, they are saying "Thank you," or "Hey Giant, Feed me." And "Make eye contact with your hummingbirds." I believe in eye contact.
A friend told me about a safari encounter with an elephant. While sitting in the jeep, a mother elephant approached, stuck her head in and looked my friend straight in the eye. It was a tender, spiritual moment, and I am sure, the elephant sensed her goodness.
As I hope the hummingbirds can sense mine.
I have clout, for I am the wife of their feeder.
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