One of the best parts of traveling to the mountains in the summer is the chance to enjoy hummingbirds. I sit for hours watching feisty little creatures that whir as they fly, zipping to and from feeders dangling from every possible eave.
In years past, motivated by iridescent, long billed birds we enjoyed during our mountain retreats, we came home to hang our own feeder. We usually did this in late July or early August, and all we got for our trouble was a wasp or ant invasion. As a result, I cleaned out the feeders and buried them in the camping box, thinking I would use them only in the Rockies.
A few autumns ago, I attended an auction in McCracken, and as I drove through that little hamlet, I noticed hummingbird feeders hanging in several yards. When I ran into folks I knew, I asked about the syrup filled bottles, and one lady explained that hummingbirds pass through western Kansas during their fall southward migration. I should’ve raced directly home to fill my own feeders, but my brain was on overload, and I forgot.
Like many people, I remember stuff when I can’t use it, and each October I think I should’ve put the feeder out mid-August to tempt early arrivals. This year, we got a gentle reminder. My husband and youngest daughter walked out the back door as a ruby-throated hummingbird sampled petunias blooming on the patio.
After I returned from North Dakota, where hummers visit throughout summer, my family eagerly recounted this exciting visit. With that kind of inspiration, I raced to the basement and dug the hummingbird feeder out of the camping box. Then I concocted a sugar solution of ¼ sugar and ¾ water and boiled it. After it cooled, I poured it into the bottle decorated with little red, fake flower sippers to attract those hovering visitors. My husband placed it so we could watch hummers as we worked or ate in the kitchen.
For several days, we never saw a hummingbird or heard whirring wings as it jetted from branch to branch. I thought I’d missed the one and only hummer to visit our neighborhood. But, the solution in the feeder kept dropping, and I knew evaporation couldn’t account for every missing ounce.
Finally, I heard the hoped for words. “Karen, you have a hummer!” I crept quietly to the kitchen window just as the tiny bird flashed away. Darn! A few hours later persistence paid off, and I caught the little guy sipping delicately from our red plastic blooms.
As a youngster, I hated to flip the calendar to August. But, now, as the earth rotates into that 33 degree tilt that tints late summer and early fall days with a golden hue, I anticipate migrating hummers. Once the sun shifts from its summer to autumnal position, my ears automatically listen for whirring wings playing one of summer’s final songs. I catch myself watching late blooming flowers obsessively, hoping to capture the season’s last magical moments.
Native Kansan Karen Madorin is a local writer and retired teacher who loves sharing stories about places, people, critters, plants, food, and history of the High Plains.