A Farewell To My Tiny, Winged Friends of Summer

My hummingbird feeder actually brought on a philosophical moment this morning. I was looking at it from my window and I realized that the end of summer is nearing. Autumn is on the horizon. The spring flowers have long since disappeared. The columbine, found in the spring growing along damp rock faces, is long gone now. Looking back, my hummingbird feeder went through much of the summer with one regular visitor. As is the case with hummingbirds and their territorial instincts, she staked out the feeder as her own and would chase away any hummingbird poachers that would come along in search of sustenance. When I would briefly take down the feeder, bring it inside, wash it out, and resupply it with fresh food, she would wait anxiously on a nearby wire or branch for its return. When I would rehang it and take a few steps away, she'd come zooming in to make an inspection.

Then about a month ago she disappeared. If she were taken by a hungry kestrel, it would be the natural order of things, if she were the victim of a moving car, well, that’s not so natural. Either way, an unclaimed hummingbird feeder means opportunity for a lucky hummingbird on the prowl. A week or so after the disappearance of my first, regular hummingbird guest, a second female hummingbird became my feeder’s sole proprietor. This bird was a little more ragged and battle-worn when compared to the first hummer, but she was just as territorial. Any outside hummingbird that approached my feeder had a tiny, winged challenger to combat.     

It is now past the middle of August. It is just about time for hummingbirds to migrate. One day soon my little, green-feathered friend will disappear, probably never to return, not even in the spring; at least not to my feeder. Still, I will keep my feeder up at least a few months longer. It will act as a way station for hummingbirds migrating from farther north. They will see the red, plastic feeder and stop off for an hour or so and replenish before moving on.

It is possible that in late September or October, when it is chilly and the leaves are falling, some old, tired hummingbird will find my feeder and decide that it is where he will spend his final days of life. Sometimes hummers will do that when they are old and can go no farther. The feeder will be their own, personal hospice. I figure that providing such a service is the least I can offer to my pint-sized friends of summer.