By Allen L Phillips
As I was paying attention to being alive this morning, in my usual state of semi-recline on the patio sofa, the sprinklers on the rear bank came on. I had just turned the system back on for the first time this year so it was good to see them working. The sprinklers at the top of the hill cast a fine rotating spray that reaches nearly to the bottom plus drip lines feed water to specific plants.
The sprinklers seemed to encourage more bird activity as there was a lot of fluttering about and bird calls to distract me from my reading. Damp foliage glittered from the sun hitting the water droplets and I watched one of our hummers slowly flying through the fine spray apparently enjoying the bath. I can enter a meditative state at times like these. It’s mesmerizing.
Our hummers are the Anna’s hummingbirds and I understand that they stay here the year around rather than migrating. So the ones that nest in our Melaleuca trees could be 4th or 5th generations of the same family. That could explain why they seem so comfortable with us and have actually assumed responsibility for security in our back yard. They have their various perches where they rest between patrols, always high up where they can watch the perimeter. We don’t need an alarm system with them in charge – they are very thorough.
My research indicates that they can’t live on nectar alone, that they also need protein from small insects. It was suggested, perhaps on Nextdoor, that banana peels left out for them would attract fruit flies for them to eat, so I found a metal frame from an old feeder, draped some peels over it and hung it up. It’s hard to keep up with them because they’re so little and move so fast, but so far I haven’t seen them near the peels.
It’s easy to see them sipping nectar from the feeder and flowers, not so easy to catch them in the act of eating insects. It behooves me to stay on the job until I figure out when and where they eat insects so that I can ensure they are getting enough. I need to keep my security service well fed.
“Paying attention to being alive” is a line from a poem by Jack Gilbert and came to my attention when quoted in The Yellow House, a compelling memoir by Sarah M. Broom.
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