This is probably my fifth year feeding humming birds. That first year it took most of the summer for my feeder to be discovered. It tried my patience, but it did pay off.
The following summers continued the trend; I wanted to give up after weeks of no sightings.
Forget it, they are not coming.
Sugar water will ferment and mold after several days in the hot sun. So regardless of whether it was being consumed, I would continue to refresh the nectar (made myself). As I poured the liquid into a freshly cleaned feeder, I had to push down the negative thoughts.
Why go to this trouble?
How will that tiny bird find this tiny feeder on their big migration northward?
Maybe I didn't get the sugar-to-water ratio right. Maybe they will taste it, stick out their tongues in disgust, and somehow spread the word on Yelp that I rate only as good as a Waffle House found anywhere below the Mason-Dixon line.
Yes, those are my thoughts! For the most part.
The graphic template for this diary is themed around the hummer and has been from the start.
I think it is because they are so little.
Anything in miniature automatically implies cuteness. Even ogres. Have you seen Shrek's babies?
Hummers delight me to no end.
When I spot one through my kitchen window, hovering over the plastic-flower-oasis-of-nectar, my child-like glee can hardly be contained.
"Hummer!" I announce to whomever is in earshot.
I use my "loud" whisper voice, and speak it so quickly that I turn a two-syllable word into one: "Humr!"
Every time: "Humr!"
I'm sure it drives my family crazy.
I don't get tired of it.
I think it's because it provides the satisfaction typical of any symbiotic relationship: they eat food and I get the pleasure of watching them eat the food.
It's also affirmation that persistence pays off.
And that I actually do rate better than a Waffle House.