The house I grew up in wasn't particularly notable other than that it was our house and that, in and of itself, made it special. A two story L-shaped brick duplex with a finished basement, we had the rear unit which meant that I was fortunate to grow up with a backyard.
There was no fence, just a hedge four or five feet tall that created some sense of security and privacy around the lawn. An uneven blacktop carport and cement patio were ours and we had shared the use of a red, wooden shed with our neighbors until they sold their unit and the new neighbor decided to build a brown vinyl-sided garage.
Over the years we had lots of interesting visitors. Among them a mother mallard duck and her ducklings who decided to take a breather on what must have been the trek of a lifetime. There were the occasional raccoons and skunks, but mostly it was the birds. Our neighbor had a feeder out and we'd get to see a wide assortment of sparrows and finches, robins and cardinals. Some winters we'd have chickadees which were curious enough to get close to me on a walk home from school.
Then there were the red-winged blackbirds with their distinct CON-KA-REEEEE. Usually these birds would be around the neighborhood, but on two summers, they decided that shared hedge between our yard and our neighbor with the feeders would be a great place to nest and raise some offspring. Great for them, terrible for us.
Red-wing blackbirds are extremely territorial and protective of their nest. Come closer than they're happy with and they'll dive bomb you. Our neighbor was able to remove the nest so that we could all move freely around our homes and yards.
There were also a series of mothers. One year it was a mourning dove. Another it was a robin. The robin's chicks never had a chance. A particularly crafty raccoon got to the nest one night. There was nothing the mother could do except cry out and sing in the darkness of the night.
I spent a lot of time birding as a kid and these memories stayed with me, but growing up in the Midwest, there were plenty of birds you just had to be really fortunate to see. It wasn't until I moved to Los Angeles that I saw my first hummingbird. They're amazing. For me hummingbirds became an auspicious symbol. Red tail hawks had also found their way into my life as a reassuring symbol of positivity, but hummingbirds were different. A hawk is majestic and while I've gotten pretty close to a few of them, being calm enough to get inches away from a hummingbird is a totally different matter.
A few weeks ago I noticed a hummingbird perched on a branch out side my window. I saw it again several times, before waking up one morning and noticing a small gray nest positioned carefully under the shelter of two leaves. Inside, the hummingbird resting and bobbing in the wind. It took a couple of weeks to identify the short beaks of the babies, one male, one female based on their coloring, and truthfully it was only the twenty minute feeding interval of their mother's visit that made it possible to see them. By the time they were easy to see, it was clear that they wouldn't be around long. Finally, last week, I checked on them before leaving for work. I noticed that the mother was around less. I knew I wouldn't have them around much longer.
Last week the time for goodbyes finally came. The male, delicately resting on the thin base of a leaf above the nest; the female securely in the nest. I got in a few final pictures, as for the first time the birds audibly chirped that distinctive hummingbird chirp. The male flew up and right. Almost quicker than I could see, the female darted off to a tree further down the walk. A few more chirps and they were gone.
I feel incredible gratitude for the opportunity to experience these birds up close. Their departure leaving me with the question of when I'll truly dive into some of my passions.
There was no fence, just a hedge four or five feet tall that created some sense of security and privacy around the lawn. An uneven blacktop carport and cement patio were ours and we had shared the use of a red, wooden shed with our neighbors until they sold their unit and the new neighbor decided to build a brown vinyl-sided garage.
Over the years we had lots of interesting visitors. Among them a mother mallard duck and her ducklings who decided to take a breather on what must have been the trek of a lifetime. There were the occasional raccoons and skunks, but mostly it was the birds. Our neighbor had a feeder out and we'd get to see a wide assortment of sparrows and finches, robins and cardinals. Some winters we'd have chickadees which were curious enough to get close to me on a walk home from school.
Then there were the red-winged blackbirds with their distinct CON-KA-REEEEE. Usually these birds would be around the neighborhood, but on two summers, they decided that shared hedge between our yard and our neighbor with the feeders would be a great place to nest and raise some offspring. Great for them, terrible for us.
Red-wing blackbirds are extremely territorial and protective of their nest. Come closer than they're happy with and they'll dive bomb you. Our neighbor was able to remove the nest so that we could all move freely around our homes and yards.
There were also a series of mothers. One year it was a mourning dove. Another it was a robin. The robin's chicks never had a chance. A particularly crafty raccoon got to the nest one night. There was nothing the mother could do except cry out and sing in the darkness of the night.
I spent a lot of time birding as a kid and these memories stayed with me, but growing up in the Midwest, there were plenty of birds you just had to be really fortunate to see. It wasn't until I moved to Los Angeles that I saw my first hummingbird. They're amazing. For me hummingbirds became an auspicious symbol. Red tail hawks had also found their way into my life as a reassuring symbol of positivity, but hummingbirds were different. A hawk is majestic and while I've gotten pretty close to a few of them, being calm enough to get inches away from a hummingbird is a totally different matter.
A few weeks ago I noticed a hummingbird perched on a branch out side my window. I saw it again several times, before waking up one morning and noticing a small gray nest positioned carefully under the shelter of two leaves. Inside, the hummingbird resting and bobbing in the wind. It took a couple of weeks to identify the short beaks of the babies, one male, one female based on their coloring, and truthfully it was only the twenty minute feeding interval of their mother's visit that made it possible to see them. By the time they were easy to see, it was clear that they wouldn't be around long. Finally, last week, I checked on them before leaving for work. I noticed that the mother was around less. I knew I wouldn't have them around much longer.
Last week the time for goodbyes finally came. The male, delicately resting on the thin base of a leaf above the nest; the female securely in the nest. I got in a few final pictures, as for the first time the birds audibly chirped that distinctive hummingbird chirp. The male flew up and right. Almost quicker than I could see, the female darted off to a tree further down the walk. A few more chirps and they were gone.
I feel incredible gratitude for the opportunity to experience these birds up close. Their departure leaving me with the question of when I'll truly dive into some of my passions.
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