Winter Residents

Day 131: Homo sap. as a species thinks of itself as the cream of creation. We have opposable thumbs. We have incredibly versatile brains. We have created technology to help us create more technology. We have imagined such concepts as "time" and "money," and we are constantly battling to come out on top of the other guy. Admirable traits? I think not. All of the above have done little except cause us grief, and would do nothing to help us survive in the same "real world" of those creatures we refer to inappropriately as "lesser." Many of the physical adaptations on which we pride ourselves are nothing to write home about when compared, for example, to a hummingbird whose countercurrent circulatory system and ability to enter a state of torpor allow it to survive sub-freezing temperatures. Would we survive with 60-70% of our cells frozen solid? Not hardly, but some frogs can, and so can many plants. The fact that I can grip a hammer, embrace a conspiracy theory, make a phone call to speak to an AI interface, race to meet a deadline, buy unimaginable numbers of things no sensible being needs, and stomp my opponents into the mud means nothing compared to a hummingbird's remarkable ability to endure despite all Nature throws at it.

Mister Anna

Day 78: By and large, people in northern climes tend to regard hummingbirds as summer visitors and consequently take their feeders down when cold weather sets in. I might have had Anna's long before the first one showed up, but for the fact that I did exactly that: stopped putting out the food as soon as I was sure the Rufouses were gone. A few years ago, though, I spotted a solitary Anna's in my dogwood tree during the summer. A little later in the year, it was joined by a couple more and, to my great amazement, they didn't leave with the Rufous gang. I kept the feeders stocked all winter, bringing them in at night when the temps plunged below freezing, returning them to the hangers before first light so that the birds newly emerged from nighttime torpor could find an easy breakfast. Those first few Anna's spread the word, and now I have nearly as many in winter as I do in summer, but of course in summer, the Rufous crowd returns in equivalent numbers. I have seen one bird which I was sure was Costa's (a male) and another which may have been a Costa's/Anna's hyrbrid. Winter hummer-watching can be a lot more rewarding than you might expect!

Green LIght, Red Light

Day 17: Remember that game you played as a kid called "Red Light, Green Light?" Hummingbirds like this Anna's have it built in. This remarkable ability to change colour seemingly on a whim is due to the physical structure of the feathers rather than to pigmentation. Microscopic layers within the feather only permit passage of specific wavelengths, and as light strikes the feather from different angles, multiple microlayers combine or cancel specific wavelengths to produce the visual effect of colour change. A hummingbird's shimmering throat feathers may hold as many as fifteen different microlayers, each with a thickness which matches one colour of light. The reflected light we perceive as iridescence is the product of amplification of some colours, reduction of others. With the ability to go from red to green with just a shift of the head, it's no wonder hummingbirds can halt so abruptly mid-air and then be gone in a flash. They've had lots of practice playing "Stop and Go."

Global Big Day

Day 213: You don't need to travel to have a Big Day! It's only 7:30 AM and already I've counted 16 species in my yard. The weather is abominable (another reason for enjoying a Big Day from the comfort of my home). I doubt I'll see anything rare from my perch in the living room or from my back porch, but I can still enjoy a Big Day. So far, my biggest thrill was that the Red-Breasted Nuthatch showed up for breakfast, and I've ticked off both our local chickadees. Some of the more common birds have yet to put in an appearance. The Rufous Hummingbirds arrived with the dismal dawn, but the Anna's hummers (male, above) aren't out of bed yet. I'm getting as many photos as I can. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some serious birding to do, and I'll post the results tomorrow.

Pollinator At Work

Day 314: This year as last, I will owe a debt of gratitude to the dozens of Anna's Hummingbirds who are busily pollinating my Heritage raspberries. They seem to prefer them to any other plant in the yard, even the Hardy Fuchsias which are one of their favourites. They flit from perches in the contorted filbert and mountain-ash, navigating through the tangle of leaves and vines with ease, reaching even the blossoms in the middle of the raspberry jungle. They are pure joy to watch at their industry, and I will remember their labours long into the winter months when I pull raspberries from my freezer.

Himself, The Documentation

Day 5: Aye, an' tha' wuild be Himself a-takin' o' 'is wee mid-day meal, th' dear wee lad. Far from the best photo, it is at least documentation of the male Anna's Hummingbird who is a frequent, if very brief visitor to the feeder. His colour is extremely difficult to catch, his throat and crown black in most lights, affording only a glint of red as he turns his head. Since he seemed to be more hungry than usual yesterday, I set the camera up on the tripod in the middle of the living room, determined to capture his full red glory. "Himself" I call him, the Scottish term of respect for the lord and master of the manor, although I do not believe that there is only this one individual. He is very territorial, and frequently leaves the restaurant in hot pursuit of interlopers. I have only seen him share the feeder once, and that with a female. I have it on report from a friend that Anna's is a year-'round species, at least in Eatonville, but this year marks the first time I have confirmed them in my yard at any season. And as another friend remarked, "Nature has been very kind to you during the pandemic." That she has: Anna's Hummingbirds by the hundred, Chickadees of both species eating from my hand, Scrub Jay and friend at the feeder, the Nuthatch, even my very own Corallorhiza maculata ("Mac"), all within the bounds of my yard.

Definitely Anna's

Day 322: There was still some lingering doubt in my mind regarding my identification of what appeared to be an Anna's...no, a swarm of Anna's Hummingbirds visiting my yard. I'd never confirmed the presence of Anna's here before, although there was that one incident with the funny-coloured "Rufous" female at the feeder about ten years ago, captured only on video as a darting blur which may or may not have had a grey belly and a flash of red under the chin. But yesterday while I was riding my exercise bike, camera at my side just in case, half a dozen that-can't-be-Rufouses showed up, popcorning between the Sitka Mountain-ash and the feeder in the fuchsias. Then one perched on the preferred branch of the mountain-ash, remaining in place for several minutes as I stopped pedalling and picked up the camera. Then I got off the bike and edged closer...and closer...and closer...and..."Oh, look at those freckles!" I said in observation of the breast, "And you have a dark patch...was that a wink of red?...under your little chin!" The light had to be just right to catch it, and the camera did not, but it was enough to confirm that yes, the Ash Group is definitely comprised of Anna's, juveniles and females, and very possibly at least one subadult male. It's been an exciting summer at the feeders!

The Anna's Tree

Day 304: The larger of my two Sitka mountain-ash trees shall forevermore be known as the Anna's Tree. I have never had Anna's hummingbirds in my yard, but that is what I have concluded these are (juveniles) after careful examination of multiple photos and observing them as they hover at the hardy fuchsias. There is no evidence of rufous colouration on the tails, and they are definitely "dingy grey-green" on their tummies. I first noted them while I was riding my exercise bike about a week ago. Something just didn't look right about them. "Huh," I said aloud, "that doesn't look like a Rufous. Could it...nah, must be the light." I couldn't get a clear view at the time with the sun in my eyes, but when they perched on the mountain-ash, another observation filtered its way up from my subconscious: the green feathers on their backs had a different tonal quality, bluish, but so subtly different that again, it might have been a deception of the light. Their behaviour was different, too. The Rufouses perch in the contorted filbert or dart in among the leaves of the Japanese maple. These little buggers stick exclusively to the mountain-ash, and there are...well, maybe not millions, but there must be at least ten, all of which go from fuchsia to tree repeatedly, sometimes with three or four perched in the tree almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Admittedly, I fudged this photo a bit to have both of them in focus by stacking two images, but this was the view through the lens. I've moved the feeder to hang just above the fuchsias, immediately outside my front window. Hopefully, I'll get an even closer look once theiy figure out where it is.