Month: July 2020

The Tale of the Hummingbird and the Bees

The Tale of the Hummingbird and the Bees

Posted on by gardengirl8

A Story in Pictures

In early spring, when the first wave of flowers was only just beginning to bloom, the hummingbirds and the bees were locked in a battle for nectar. I suppose without an abundance of flowers yet, both desperately needed sustenance. Still, it was a bit disheartening to see, at times, the feeders swarmed by bees–so much so that it often became precarious to get anywhere near them. The above story was a rare moment of cooperation.

I know the bees need our help since their decline is on the rise. But leaving things the way they were meant that sometimes the bees completely crowded out the hummers. So, I did what I always do when faced with a problem I don’t know how to solve: I consulted the interwebs.

As I suspected, because it was early spring and not much was in bloom yet, compounded by sometimes chilly mornings, the bees were just plain hungry. Someone suggested putting out a 1:1 sugar-water mixture, which differs from the 1:4 blend that the hummingbirds get. I didn’t want to use any of my hummingbird feeders since the birds might be attracted to it as well, so I settled on using a jar with small holes punched in the lid. I then turned the filled jar upside down and propped it up on two bricks. It looked kind of like this from the website Better Bee (except in this picture they’ve used wood props):

I placed it not too far away from the hummer feeders, but far enough that no one would have a run-in with the bees. Because let me tell you, those guys swarmed to their new feeder, sucking down an entire jar in a day!

Since the bee nectar was much more concentrated than the hummingbird elixir, the bees largely stayed away from the bird feeders. I continued feeding the bees until spring finally sprung all the way, and there were plenty of flowers for everyone. We haven’t had an issue with them since.

Now, I just have to figure out how to keep the ants out of the feeders…

A Convergence of Toads

Posted on by gardengirl8

Sometime in early May, we started hearing the throaty call of a toad in the evenings. It made such a racket that we could hear it over the television. Knowing it was likely in our fish pond, my son and I went out one night to have a look.

No wonder it’d been so loud.

Each night for about a week, they were there, having their own little pool party.

In early June, I spotted a toad emerging from the pond one morning. “Must have been a long night,” I said to it.

It gave me a side-eye and continued on with its walk of shame.

But a few days later, I realized what she’d (I now knew it had to be a she) been doing.

It seemed like a lot of eggs, but I thought there was no way they’d all survive–not with all the fat goldfish in our pond.

I was wrong.

Because soon enough, the pond was teeming with tiny, wriggly tadpoles. “What are we going to do with all these toads?” my husband asked.

“There’s no way they’ll all make it,” I said. “The birds will eat some of them.”

Wrong again. Every morning, I see them in their varying stages of transformation.

Until they hop out of the water, so tiny I sometimes mistake them for a bug.

I can’t help but think of evolution, when a prehistoric fish sprouted legs and crawled out of the primordial waters for the first time. It’s so primal.

It’s easy to forget about the wonder of nature. But part of the joy of having a certified Wildlife Habitat for a yard is seeing things like this. It is connecting with the life that is all around us–if we stop to look.

Songs from the Wild Branches

Posted on by gardengirl8 
"Such Singing From Wild Branches" 
by Mary Oliver 

It was spring 
and I finally heard him 
among the first leaves–– 
then I saw him clutching the limb
 
in an island of shade 
with his red-brown feathers 
all trim and neat for the new year. 
First, I stood still
 
and thought of nothing. 
Then I began to listen. 
Then I was filled with gladness–– 
and that's when it happened,
 
when I seemed to float, 
to be, myself, a wing or a tree–– 
and I began to understand 
what the bird was saying,
 
and the sands in the glass 
stopped 
for a pure white moment 
while gravity sprinkled upward
 
like rain, rising, 
and in fact it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing–– 
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed 
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers, 
and also the trees around them, 
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds in the perfect blue sky–––all of them
 
were singing. 
And, of course, so it seemed, 
so was I. 
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last
 
For more than a few moments. 
It's one of those magical places wise people 
like to talk about. 
One of the things they say about it, that is true,
 
is that, once you've been there, 
you're there forever. 
Listen, everyone has a chance. 
Is it spring, is it morning?
 
Are there trees near you, 
and does your own soul need comforting? 
Quick, then––open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song 
may already be drifting away.

My favorite time of day is early morning, just after the sun rises. When I walk outside, coffee in hand, the sun is still waking, and the air is blissfully cool. But it is the sound of birdsong that truly gets me. The birds’ chorus then seems different than at other times of the day, as if they reserve the most melodic songs for heralding in the morning. They perch on tree branches, and I spot their various hues: red, gray, blue, tan. Sometimes, a flash of vibrant yellow or orange. The singers are mostly hidden by spring leaves, wings momentarily stilled. They are steadfast in their task.

There’s something about this new day’s concerto that makes me glad that I’ve gotten out of bed. It makes me happy to be alive, and I sing too. Not literally, of course, but the music zings through my bloodstream and thrums in my bones. Those few minutes each morning can power me through the day.

It’s like Mary Oliver said, it’s one of those magical places, and once you’ve been there, you’re there forever. So, quick now, go outside. Be still. Look up. Listen.

And most importantly, sing.

Check out my very amateur video recording of morning birdsong. Isn’t it lovely?