Rubythroat Hummingbird

May tinted the orchard's slope carmine with wild columbines which undulated to the slightest breeze. With throat a deeper crimson than the flowers and back more vivid green than the leaves, a RUBYTHROAT appeared humming like a tiny airplane, the wind from his propellers swaying the delicately-poised stalks.

Suddenly dropping beneath a flower he slipt his bill perpendicularly into it, raised the cup horizontally and extracted the food within.

A few days later, while watching a belated Whitethroat feeding on a dandelion globule, I heard again the whirr of the same tiny motor. The startled Whitethroat almost fell over backward as the emerald projectile shot forward with rapier bill poised threateningly two inches from the sparrow's eyes and tail lowered at a right angle.

"Beat it! That's mine."

Mr. Whitethroat obeyed instantly and went away from there. Was it a spirit of perversity or mischief which prompted Rubythroat to covet that particular bunch of seeds? There were many other dandelion wands nearby. Perhaps it was innate pugnacity, for these restless, highspeed sprites always seem to carry a chip on their wing.

Three "lineups" revealed the home foundation was being laid on an apple tree branch within thirty feet of the porch and so located I could easily look into it from an upper window.

There was no doubt as to the architect and builder of that home. Sir Ruby carried his share of material but Mrs. Ruby supervised the job and refused to allow him to place any of the spiders' webs which bound on the lichens ornamenting the exterior. These bits of moss seemed to be gathered entirely from the home tree and on one resistant piece they worked together prying it off.

Work was often stopt for play or lovemaking. The exuberant life within these glittering sunbeams must find more than one outlet.

Sir Ruby would suddenly spring upward on the arc of a twenty-foot circle, then down past his admiring sweetheart whose head turned in time with the pendulum swings. The maneuver was executed a dozen times, then he dropped alongside of her as softly as a milkweed seed comes to rest.

Who could refuse such a galiant charmer? Certainly not she and — where's the dot key? — here it is . . . . .

In a little over two days the home was finished and no time lost occupying it. On the third morning a peep thru the glasses revealed a tiny white egg exactly the shape and size of a small bean. Next morning another reposed alongside and I caught Sir Ruby on the edge of the nest, looking, it seemed to me, somewhat mystified at the treasures.

Male Hummingbirds usually lose all interest in home life after the eggs appear and I expected this one would follow precedent. Perhaps he was taking a farewell look. His reverie was rudely shattered by an emerald dart.

Instead of turning tail in fright he slipped into the first dizzy turn of the courtship half circle, while she, from a point directly above the nest, sank lightly on the eggs. For a full minute he whirled up and down, turning at the height of the arc but always facing her as he went past the nest.

Here was an interesting variation from the conventionally indifferent groom, and thereafter the binoculars were used steadily. Courtship after marriage! Page homo sapiens! Mrs. Rubythroat assumed the role of an efficient New England housewife and, like some of them after marriage, tolerated no more sentimental nonsense.

What to do with expressive affection barred? Fight? Why, of course, so an air deadline was laid out and strictly enforced. Any living thing which wandered within this boundary was summarily halted. The Phoebes, with four youngsters under the woodshed, were forced into a wide detour via Chickenhouse Lane, and even this circuitous route was not always safe. The only exception allowed was a pair of Redeye Vireos with their pendulous home on the opposite side of the same tree. They had commenced home building before the Hummers and perhaps the latter recognized the law of priority.

Sudden outcries from the chickenyard one morning brot me to the window, rifle in hand. The wire fence had spoiled a Cooper Hawk's stoop, and he lit on a post to figure out a more effective attack. Straight as a bullet the "Winged Rainbow" shot at him. The Hawk drew his head back with ruffled neck feathers and assumed a pose of "frightfulness" but it was no go — the attack was driven home and, to "save his face," he dove for the woods, twisting and turning to escape the fighting midget jabbing at the back of his head.

We had been losing chicks from Lady Jane's family in the orchard, for some days. I attributed this slaughter to the gentleman just defeated. That evening another was gone. Altho a clever and persistent thief, it did not seem probable the Hawk would return so soon after defeat.

Early next morning Sir Ruby chased a "wood cat" from a clump of briers at the end of the grape arbor. More dots . . . . . . . . . .

Water from our spring was brought thru a lead pipe to a barrel in front of the house. The overflow fell on an old cherry log. The morning "wash" was often performed there, with Sir Ruby sometimes cooling his tiny feet perched on the stump within two feet of my face. When he ruffled his feathers the rising sun glinted on different facets — a living reflection of all the jewels in existence — and he canted his pert head sideways.

"Well, what do you think of me? Pretty good looker?"

"Sure are! Rainbow and jewels combined. You're — "

There was an angry squeak — a nebulous spiral spouted upward into the maples as he drove off another Hummer who had attempted to usurp his place on the log.

The Crow's normal flight is steady. Sometimes this progression changes to a series of dives and sideslips. This puzzled me until the mystery was solved while watching a Crow, thru the glass, flying up the valley about an eighth of a mile away. "Fighting Bob" was in pursuit altho invisible to the unaided eye.

The fiercest scrap was staged on an old rail fence extending from the apple tree to a grove of hemlocks fifty yards north. I saw what at first I thot was a venturesome red squirrel who had not been informed this highway was closed, come swiftly along the top rail. He was met halfway by an exploding shell but continned advancing. Feints and straight drives increased as the enemy approached the sacred precincts. The final attack, delivered with machine gun intensity, was too much and the weasel — it was one of these demons — hunted a rock refuge. The Hummingbird is the only thing smaller than a weasel that I have ever seen lick the little terror. Nor was a vein of humor and mischief lacking.

A three-quarter inch black beetle became entangled in spider strands and hung suspended from a grapevine slat. Sir Ruby's quick eye saw the swaying victim struggling to climb the entangling threads. He sent the captive swinging to top of the arc with a blow; poised in midair while the "old cat died," then hit him a crack from the other side. The helpless victim's swaying motion seemed of great interest to his tormentor. He shifted from side to side watching momentum lessen, then accelerated it with another blow until an extra hard tap broke the thread and released coleoptera.

Mrs. Ruby left the nest for such long intervals that I feared the eggs would not hatch. She was absent twice at peep of dawn; frequently for a quarter hour and once was gone for thirty-one minutes. The sixth day was cold and rainy but the eggs were left exposed for the same periods as on sunshiny ones. The family protector never occupied her place. When she left he followed but seldom returned with her.

The youngsters appeared on the eleventh day — such tiny, helpless atoms — it seemed impossible they would ever attain the dash and energy of their parents.

Providing food was not part of father's abnormal gallantry. Three days after the children were born I did not see him in the nest vicinity again.

The fear that the youngsters would be stabbed to death when the mother inserted her needle-bill down their throats, never left me, altho I have watched the meal gymnastics often. How they escape complete impalation when she starts that jabbing motion is beyond me.

Food is injected directly into their wee tummies — that is certain, and they have no epicurean joys unless the sense of taste is located in that part of their anatomy. After numerous "tuning-ups" of wing propellers with feet gripping the nest edge, home was forsaken on the twelfth day. It was "fly or fall" for their bodies completely filled the cup.

The parents continued visiting the flowers but I did not see the youngsters again until August. All four were making their morning toilet on a jeweled spray — an appropriate perch selection. The children shied when they touched off a seedpod. In early September they left for South America with its hop of 500 miles across the Gulf of Mexico.

"Happy landings!" to you — Lindberghs of the air and Cids in courage.