I dread the day the hummers leave. This month I have been mentally preparing myself for the inevitable. I've been telling myself it could be any day now, and that it will be OK.
Well that day came. And it's not OK. For the last two days the bees have been the only thing humming at the feeder. The hummers and bees have had nectar sipping wars all summer. The hummer wins every time of course. But this is the first year I've noticed the bees caring at all about the feeder. So it was interesting to watch the bees and hummers dance around each other to vie for the little plastic flower that seemed to supply an endless amount of syrupy sweet sustenance.
I was very faithful about filling that feeder. As if I was their sole provider and sustain-er. I didn't want to let those pretty little guys down. Frankly, I was afraid they'd run out on me. "Well Sal, this one's run dry. I am deeply disappointed in our provider. Now we must move on or die."
No, it was not my lack of attention that caused their exodus. It was their choice to move on. But it saddens me when I look out the kitchen window and see the deserted oasis.
Once I bring in the feeder and store it for the winter, I will pull out my seed feeder. When that first snow flies, you can be sure it will be filled to the brim with seeds. 'Cuz how will those chickadees, finches and sparrows manage without my supply of food? "Wow Bob, look-a-here! Lets stay awhile. I'm so grateful, I was on the verge of starvation."
Oh my. What kind of power kick am I on anyway?