Hummingbirds

It's the end of July and the hummingbirds are at it. The transient rufous hummingbirds have migrated into the established territory of the smaller black chinned birds, and battles are on. 

The feeder is hung on our patio, right outside the kitchen window. All summer, before the new hummers arrive, we watch the delicate black chinned birds nervously hover, sometimes sit, and occasionally just perch on the plastic dish to drink their fill. They have shimmery green iridescent backs.

I love opening the kitchen window shade in the morning to make coffee and seeing them right there.

They flit among my flowers in my gardens too. They like the red lambsear outside the dining room window, and I enjoy watching them from inside as they visit the red flowers underneath the transplanted Japanese maple. They get busy in the mornings.

But when midsummer slides into late summer, other hummingbirds arrive on their way south, and battles begin.

Rufous hummingbirds are a bit bigger, more aggressive and very noisy. They chirp and chirr and cheep as they feed, constantly. Most of the ruckus is between the newcomers themselves jockeying for ownership of this new territory.

They defend territory, and do this by sitting on the chain for the feeder. This one doesn't drink, he's not feeding, he just sits on the chain until challenged.

And when challenged, aerial battles ensue. I sat on the patio the other night, with camera in hand waiting to capture a swooping, diving battle, but all that happened was I drank all the wine and ate all the olives and cheese.

I kept waiting, like a National Geographic wildlife photographer on assignment in the Himalayas or something. Waited. The wine was gone, the olives eaten. Then a big diving battle suddenly started and I could not capture any of it. 

At one point the combatants dove right at my head and missed me by inches. It's crazy out there, but quite a show.