THE
winter was past. A thousand violets and dandelions had been proclaiming it
for days. Every little while long V-shaped flocks of wild geese honked
their loudest as they passed over our house on their way north. Robins and
bluebirds twittered every morning in the old willow tree where we children
had our swing. The peach trees were pink with blossoms, and the farmers
were plowing in every field. All said spring had come.
But
all these prophets might be wrong. They had been known to make a mistake.
Even the gooseberry bushes had made a mistake one season; and had not only
come into leaf but were in full bloom, when a freezing blast suddenly came
from the north, and the wild geese came scurrying back by the thousands.
All night long they could be heard passing over, and the next morning six
inches of snow covered the ground. The corn in our field had been planted
for early roasting ears and was covered, and the blue flags in the garden
showed only here and there a blue spot in the snow. But it was gone by
noon, and even the flowers looked little worse for having had a cold bath.
The
south wind came blowing back the cold, and the birds that had left came
back with it. Then the barn swallows came to Stalker's barn, and the
purple martins to Lemley's martin houses. The next day the May apples
began pushing up their leafy umbrellas, and I found a hatful of mushrooms.
Now we could go barefooted all the time. Even mother said it was time to
go barefooted when the May apples carne up and we found mushrooms.
But
our friends, the ruby-throated humming birds, were nowhere to be seen. No
summer could be counted as really complete without humming birds. For
several summers they had played in our yard, sipping nectar from the coral
honeysuckles and the, columbines in the wild flower garden. Then they
would fly to the great white mallow blossoms in the corner of the yard
near where the blue damson plum trees grew, and after carefully examining
the heart of every flower for some tidbit, they would disappear among the
plum trees. We knew they must be nesting near by, but had never been able
to find their nest. I did not like this.
Many
a time mother had given me the job of watching a guinea hen or a turkey to
her nest. I had learned that at such times there was no use in coming out
in the open and watching. It has been such a few generations since these
fowls were wildlings and lived in the woods, where to be seen going to
their nests by any creature whatever might mean sure destruction to the
eggs if not death to the mother, that they were suspicious of even me who
fed them every day, and would never go to their nests if they had any idea
I was watching them.
But
I could play with Frank my collie dog, and roll with him in the grass
within a hundred yards of one of them and if I kept a sharp eye on her all
the while, I would soon be rewarded by seeing her steal onto her nest. All
that was necessary was for her to believe, I was not watching her. The
past summer I had tried this on some of the wild birds with success, and
had made up my mind I was going to watch Lady Ruby-throat to her nest the
next summer. Therefore I was impatiently waiting her arrival, but as yet
she had not come.
Then
one morning in early May I was sitting by one of the great hollow-log
flower vases in front of mother's bedroom window, looking for lady-birds
under the pieces of bark that still stuck on their sides. Suddenly I heard
a whir of wings and there was Mrs. Ruby-throat stationed in front of a
bunch of red geraniums almost in my very face. Her wings moved so fast one
could scarcely see them, and yet her body never moved up or down, backward
or forward. In the sunshine her brilliant plumage shimmered red gold and
peacock green, and her eyes glistened like black beads.
"Little
lady," I said, "do you know I am going to find your nest this
year? " She gave a squeak as much as to say, "Try it if you
dare," and flew off like a shot, up over the house, to be followed by
her mate who evidently had been watching from some place near by.
From
that very moment I was on the lookout for this humming bird's nest. No one
had ever told me what kind of nest humming birds make, or where they build
it, or what materials they use in its structure. I was expecting to see
them carry sticks like Sallie the house wren, or hairs and strings like
the hanging bird. I did not know whether they would nest, in a hole, like
a chickadee, or hang their nest between two small twigs at the end of a
limb, like a vireo. I even thought they might suspend it from the tips of
some small twigs, like the blue gray gnatcatcher. I knew the nest would be
tiny and hard to see, and I was really expecting to find it hung between
two twigs.
I
stayed in the yard as much as possible, now that humming birds were around
every day. It was not hard to find them for they were within either sight
or hearing most of the time, but I could never see them doing anything
that looked in the least like building a nest. This went on for days,
until I was sure they must have a nest and possibly eggs. It seemed to me
I had never wanted to see anything so bad in my life as this nest. Then
something happened, but it was a neighbor who saw it and showed it to me.
He
was sitting out under a great elm tree Whittling when he heard the whir
of a humming bird's wings. Looking up he saw the bird flying above the
tree. It proved to be the mother humming bird. Suddenly she seemed to fold
her wings and drop like shot through the branches directly unto a limb
almost a foot in diameter. She opened her wings in time to catch herself
before she reached the limb. In her mouth was a bit of down, which she
placed on top of this limb, taking care to place it very carefully indeed.
Away
she went like a flash and he could see nothing to mark the place where she
had been. Soon she was back with another bit of down, which she placed as
nearly as we could tell in the spot where she placed the first one, and
this time her mate followed -with a bit of down in his mouth.
She
would not allow him to touch, or even to come very near, where she had
placed her down; so finally he gave it to her, and she placed it with the
rest.
When
they were gone the second time, we could stand it no longer. We must be
sure what they were about. Surely such tiny birds would never build on so
large a limb, and even if they should do so, they would not build in such
a location. Not only was there no fork where they had placed this down;
there was not even a twig near the spot. Even the most careless nest
builders, turtle doves and yellow-billed cuckoos, choose better places for
a nest than that. The tree was too large to climb; but even if it had not
been too large, we would hardly have climbed it. We wanted to know what
was going on bad enough; but to climb the tree and have the birds find us
there would surely cause them to stop whatever they were doing, and there
was just a shadow of a possibility they might be building a nest.
But
the elm tree stood close enough to a small maple, so that it was possible
to climb the maple and watch what was going on in the elm. This we did,
and this is what we learned.
The
tiny birds were indeed building a nest, and they were building it on top
of this great limb, setting it on the bare bark and sticking it fast with
a sort of glue secreted like saliva in the mother bird's mouth. Mrs.
Ruby-throat appeared to spread this saliva with her tongue, working over
her material till it would stick well. Whether Mr. Ruby-throat placed any
saliva on the material he brought before he gave it to his mate we could
not tell. Whether he did so or not, it was certain it never quite suited
her till she had picked it over and moistened it again, no matter what he
might have done to it.
All
material used was the softest down, gathered from we never knew where. It
was either exactly the shade of color of the bark on which it was placed,
or exactly the color of the moss and lichens that grew on the bark. When
securely fastened, we had difficulty in seeing it, even though we had seen
it placed.
Hour
by hour and day by day the nest grew, till it was perhaps two inches
across and two and a half inches deep. Had it been placed in the forks of
two small twigs it would undoubtedly have stayed, for it was so well glued
together and stuck so tightly to the limb that it could hardly have fallen
out; but it would have been easier to see. As it was, it looked no
different from the end of a rough scale of bark such as stuck up many
places on this limb.
To
make it look even more like apiece of bark, the birds not only used no
material in building which was not either the color of the bark on the
limb or of the lichens and moss that grew on it, but they actually stuck
enough moss and lichens on the outside of the nest to completely cover its
surface.
But
even so Mrs. Ruby-throat could never feel quite sure her nest would not be
found, so she never played about or rested on the twigs of this tree nor
would she allow her mate to do so. She and Mr. Ruby-throat might fly in
and out of any other tree as often as they pleased, but never this tree.
The fact that they rested so often in the Damson plum trees had led me to
go over these limb by limb for several summers searching for their nest,
when if I had only known it, this was sure proof no nest was there. When
Mrs. Ruby-throat wished to go to her nest she flew high in the air where
she would attract little attention, then hovered above the nest tree a few
moments to make sure nothing was watching her, then folded her wings and
dropped straight down to it.
One
day it was evident the nest was done. The mother bird was seen sitting in
it. So completely was she hidden that only her bill and her tail could be
seen, one sticking over the edge on one side and the other over the other
side. After a while she was gone, and from my lookout in the maple tree I
could see she had laid an egg the tiniest little round white egg you ever
saw, no larger than a garden pea. Two days later she laid another and
immediately began sitting.
So
faithfully did she sit that she must have become very hungry had not her
mate been near and ready to feed her every time she left the nest, and if
she did not leave it often enough he would come and feed her anyway,
always being as careful as could be to drop into the tree when he felt
quite sure nothing was watching him. He seemed quite as proud and careful
of the nest as she, and he was a very good husband indeed. I was just
beginning to regard them as a model couple when something happened and all
was changed.
The
eggs hatched and two tiny babies rested in the bottom of the nest. They
were the very tiniest, most helpless little birds I ever saw. It was well
their nest was made of the softest down, for they certainly had little
down on their bodies, and so needed a soft, warm bed in which to sleep.
Everyone
knows what long, sharp bills humming birds have, but everyone does not
know a baby humming bird does not have a long bill. There is no place for
it in the tiny egg. Its bill is short.
Really
it is not much of a bill at all. It must grow later. But the eyes are
large. In fact, they look as though they were the very most prominent part
of the bird.
But
I must tell you what happened. Just as soon as the baby birds hatched,
mother Ruby-throat drove her husband away from the nest and would not even
allow him to come near the tree. She would fly at him like a little demon
if he attempted it, and if he did not get out of the way quickly enough
she would stab him with her long, sharp bill till he cried with pain. He
never got to see his own babies so much as one time, so far as I could
find out, till they were fully grown and able to fly.
I
have never understood why this should be. Mr. and Mrs. Ruby-throat seemed
loving enough up to the time their babies were hatched and seemed so again
as soon as they could fly. Mr. Ruby-throat helped in every way his mate
would allow when they were building the nest. He fed her when she was
sitting, and even occasionally gave her food for the family when they were
growing up. Yet she would never allow him to come near the nest or to
touch the young. I can but wonder why. Perhaps she thought he was so
awkward he might hurt the babies if allowed to feed them.
And
there might be some reason for this feeling. A mother humming bird
swallows young spiders and other tiny insects and sips nectar from the
flowers till her crop is full. Then she flies to the nest and rams her
bill down a baby's throat and disgorges all into his stomach. I suppose
she does this carefully enough, because the little fellow seems to enjoy
it and is always ready for more; but really, if one is watching, he will
be quite alarmed lest she run her sharp bill entirely through the little
fellow and so kill it. They look so little and helpless, and her bill is
so long and sharp, and she sticks it down their throats so far and
seemingly so carelessly that one wonders why she does not hurt them.
Humming
bird babies do not grow as fast as some baby birds, yet in a little less
than two weeks these were fully feathered and seemed fully grown.
Whether
they left in the daytime or at night, whether they went one at a time or
all together, we never knew. We did not see them go at all, but those who
have made a study of such things and who have made long trips to find
where our birds go for the winter, tell us that they must have flown
southward more than a thousand miles, over the southern part of the United
States, over the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea, and far into the
tropical forests of South America, where there would be plenty of flowers
and insects till time to come north again the next summer.
Let
us hope they all went together, and that no great tropical spider or other
creature caught any of them, and that they all came safe home again. And
probably this is what did happen; for there were more humming birds about
our house the next summer than ever before. They have gone on multiplying
for years, and when I visited the old home last June (1929) I learned that
there were many more humming birds living in the old home neighborhood
than lived there when I was a boy.
WHAT'S
NEW? 
