After finding two abandoned baby hummingbirds, Michael must work hard to keep them alive It was a lazy day in the month of May when I got that so-memorable phone call from my sometimes-bothersome twin sister, May. “Michael, hurry, hurry, come over!” screamed my sister, who was practicing tennis with Mom at a nearby tennis court. “Why? I’m busy!” I shouted back. “There’s two baby birds on the court. I think they’re still alive.” My ears perked up, and instantaneously my irritating sister became my wonderful sibling. “I’m coming right now!” I dragged Dad off the couch and made him drive me to the tennis courts. When we arrived, I saw Mom and May standing over two orphaned rufous hummingbirds, barely a week old. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was my first time seeing hummingbird nestlings. They were only about the size of a stick of gum, pink-colored, and naked, with eyes closed. They shivered and ruffled what little down they had, trying to shelter from the ocean breeze. Delicately, I cupped them into the palm of my hand while using my other hand to block the wind. Nest Building It was so nerve-racking to hold something so small and delicate. After gently placing the nestlings into a small insect cage padded with tissue paper, I began looking for their nest, hoping to find their mother, who was probably frantically seeking her young ones out. Along the boundary of the tennis court was a ten-foot-tall chain-link fence with ivy covering it from top to bottom. The ivy had grown thick, and probably hadn’t been cut back in years, which would make finding their home, a nest about the size of silver dollar, an almost impossible task. But the “needle in a haystack” chance of finding their nest didn’t deter me. I desperately wanted these little nestlings to live. I searched everywhere—every branch, nook, and cranny of ivy along the borders of the tennis court. After a couple of nerve-racking hours, I finally found the nest. It was located high up near the tree canopy, where neither my father, who is six-foot, three inches tall, nor I could reach. But mother bird was nowhere to be found. I even tried to stand still and listen for the chirping sounds of their mother trying to call to her babies. Not a peep. The mother had probably given up. Looking at Dad, I commanded, “I’m taking them home. I’ll raise them.” Realizing I wouldn’t take no for an answer, Dad reluctantly nodded. He was tired. I was excited. A New Home I gently carried the two fledglings to my “bug room,” where I keep hundreds, maybe thousands, of various beetle specimens I’ve found in such exotic places as Japan, Thailand, Fiji, and Arizona. I’m a full-fledged, card-carrying amateur entomologist. Maybe now I’ll double as an ornithologist. By chance, I had found an old hummingbird nest some months back while hunting for mantids on tree bark. What a coincidence that I could actually put it to good use. I slipped the two pebble-sized nestlings into the nest and delicately laid a collection of twigs and branches in an eight-inch, square insect cage that I previously used to store my live Coleoptera (beetles) collection. It was now a makeshift birdcage. Once settled, the larger of the two nestlings opened its beak, spread its tiny, skeletal wings, and began chirping wildly. The second one followed. I panicked. What do hummingbirds eat? I frantically searched the internet. There wasn’t much information on hummingbird care, but I found one video describing that fledglings would happily gulp down a four-part water to one-part sugar solution supplemented with protein-rich insects. I whisked up the sugar water and luckily already had live mealworms that I use to feed my predatory insects. Feeding Time The moment of truth. Feast or famine, literally. I dipped the syringe into the sugar water and held it in front of the larger chick. It quickly darted its head out of the nest and grabbed onto the syringe as I slowly squeezed the nectar into its beak. After a few gulps, the chick seemed content, closed its eyes, and went to sleep. The second one followed and did the same. It actually worked! I rejoiced. This was my first big step toward becoming a bird whisperer. Things were looking positive. The next day I offered the chicks some mealworm gut, which they ferociously ate up in seconds. Another milestone accomplished! This became our routine for the next couple of days, from seven in the morning to nine at night. Dad pitched in too, taking care of the birds when I was at school. I’d enter the bug room just about every half an hour and the nestlings would burst into screeching chirps, beaks wide open and wings flapping. A couple squirts of nectar and a few pieces of mealworm guts satisfied their hunger. They’d quiet down and fade into a drunken sleep. A Near-Death Experience Five days had passed, and except for school, I hadn’t left home once, ignoring various family outings like movie night or visits to Grandma and choosing to stick to my strict feeding and care regiment. They grew bigger, started to grow more feathers. My hard work was paying off. “You have to go out to eat this time! Grandma’s going too!” screamed May. “All you do is sit around and feed the stupid birds.” No way am I going to get out of this one, I thought to myself. But who would feed them? Could they last more than an hour without food? I was in panic mode. I had a great idea. I’d overfeed the fledglings so they’d last until I returned home from dinner. Just before getting into the car, I fed them several times their normal doses of nectar and mealworms. Honk, honk. “Hurry-up! Get in the car,” yelled Dad. Running out of time, I noticed their food crops, the pouch in a bird’s neck that stores
June 2022
Nostalgia
Dark, Light, Dark, Light— The clouds float across the sky, sometimes covering up the sun as they go. Dark, Light, Dark— Illuminating the room, then bringing it to a gentle shade, Making shadows dance on the paper drawings tacked to the walls, in a room with an unused bed. Flash— Light— Dark— Flash— The light from the cars’ headlights filters through the blinds, One car’s lights chase another’s across the wall as they rush by in the night, Going to places nobody knows, As the clock ticks towards twelve, On, Off, On, Off, Red, Green, Blue, Christmas lights twinkle in the chilly air, Outside of houses with fantastical displays, Or on the stair railing of a house in the dark, Blue snowflakes hung in the window illuminate a face of joy in the winter, A winter that means a Christmas tree and hot cocoa, And a fire, A gas fire, And later on a wood fire to sit next to, Even though it belongs to someone else now, Fire does not forget, The shingle on a rooftop looks like the pavement near the beach That lies beneath a baking sun, Next to crashing waves that once played tag with someone, and other childish games, Even though the games are gone now, Water does not forget, Swaying the leaves of palm trees, Near a house that lies resting, Wind brings rain that washes away the trenches and castles made in soil, Rain that is blown into windows, Gently, To rock someone to sleep, Even though nobody lives behind those windows anymore, Wind does not forget. Droplets Rain washes clean a road, Worn down by years, A flower grows on the side, And without being blown, sends its seeds into the wind, Rain catches on the leaves of trees, Catches in the grass, Two friends lie beneath, The air grows colder, autumn is coming, A time when someone used to scatter nuts and seeds for the birds to eat, And tried to spot a deer, Even though nobody comes anymore, The earth does not forget. By the pond surrounded with trees glistening with rain, A path well worn winds, A path where someone would run and laugh and talk, People don’t remember. Sonia Teodorescu, 13Tampa, FL Sage Millen, 13Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
