HOW WE TOOK THE HUMMING-BIRDS' PICTURES.
There are seventeen or eighteen kinds of humming-birds in the United
States. Here in Southern California we have five of six. The largest
of these is the Anna's Humming-bird.[20] It was called "Anna's
Hummer" in honor of a lady of that name.
[20] _Calypte annae._
This bird measures about four inches from the tip of its beak to
the end of its tail. The female is a mixture of gray and green
underneath, with a shining green back. The male has a throat and
head of changeable bright colors, which shimmer like some metallic
substance as he turns about in the sunshine.
The bill of these birds is five-eighths of an inch long, and the
tongue is much longer. With this long, extensible tongue it can suck
the honey from the deepest flowers. It may be seen about the petunias
and the honeysuckle and the nasturtiums. There is plenty of sweet at
the end of these trumpet-like flowers which the bees cannot reach
with their shorter tongues.
[Illustration: WE LIKE SUGAR, TOO.]
_Page 100._
It was the Anna's Hummer which we photographed last year on purpose
to put the pictures in this book, that those who do not have
humming-birds nesting in their yards, or where they can study them,
may see just how they look.
We have no snow storms here, but in their place are long, cold rain
storms, with many days of bright, warm weather between. Flowers bloom
all the time, and the humming-birds see no reason why they should not
attend to their housekeeping. It is as if they thought, "Now this
storm is over, we will build our cradles," never once thinking of the
possibility of there coming another storm before the birdlings are
out of the nest.
We were walking about in the yard one bright morning late in
December, when a humming-bird poised herself above some pampas
grass and stole a single tuft. This pampas grass sends up its long
spikes of plumes in midsummer, and we always leave a few of them on
purpose for the birds to get for their nests. They are very dusty
and weather-beaten by winter, but that makes no difference, for the
little separate tufts are good for crib beds.
When we saw the bird at the pampas grass, we knew that she was
nesting, so we watched her. She flew to a low shrub near the path
and left the tuft. Then she darted to a cypress hedge where there
were plenty of spiders' webs. She gathered a bill full of this web
and returned to the shrub. In a moment she was off to the pampas
grass again, and we stole up to look. Not three feet from the ground
was the beginning of the smallest nest. As yet it was a mere filmy
platform set where two twigs joined hands, beneath a cluster of
bluish-green leaves.
The bird was shy and would not return while we were in sight, so we
went away and waited, knowing that we must be very careful not to
disturb her if we wished her to finish her nest.
Taming this little bird was the work of many days. At first we sat
perfectly still on the door-steps, not ten feet away. She saw us even
there, and would wait in the trees above for a long while before she
was quite sure we would not harm her. In a day or two we could sit
on the steps or move about, but not too near. Before the nest was as
large as a walnut the bird allowed us to watch her a few feet away,
provided we stood motionless. She was indeed a delicate creature,
winding the web around and around, so that the pampas tufts should be
thick and firm.
On New Year's day the first tiny oblong white egg was laid. It was
a gem, the size of a navy bean, in a nest-setting of silver-gray
softness. We clasped our hands in delight at this beginning of what
would be living rainbow tints. In four days its mate was laid by its
side. These birds always lay just two eggs. Every day the mother
bird was adding more web and lichens and pampas tufts, turning about
gently and rapidly to shape the nest around her.
We have never seen any birds except the hummers who add to their
nests during incubation and after the young are hatched. On the
twentieth day of January the first egg was hatched. We stole up to
look, and there at the bottom of the small cradle was what looked
like a tiny black grub, perfectly bare. We imagined the mother was
very happy and thinking in her dear little heart how much the baby
resembled its father.
The father, as is the custom of the males of these humming-birds,
was away in the foothills sucking sweets from the mountain flowers,
and leaving to his mate all the care of the household. It seems very
selfish of him, but the mother bird may be very glad to be without
him. What does a father humming-bird know about taking care of such
tiny babies?
One day later than its mate the other egg was hatched, and there were
a pair of black, bare grubs. They had no bills, except a tiny point
in the middle of the mouth, which they kept open in a coaxing way.
They could move nothing but their heads, and their eyes were shut
tight. How carefully the mother fed them. Many a time, looking on at
meal-time, we were tempted to caution the mother lest she thrust her
bill a little too far down the small throats. She winked her black
eye at us, while we stood with uplifted finger, as much as to say,
"Don't be afraid, I have nursed babies before."
As the birdlings grew, the nest had to be enlarged, and it took
every minute of the mother's time to keep the household matters in
order. In a few days down began to appear upon the birds, and then a
shimmering green on the backs, like that of the mother's dress. Young
male hummers do not get the bright head and throat until the first
moult. When the birds were thus clothed, the mother did not seem to
think it necessary to build the nest up about them any higher, so
the birds were crowded out gradually as they grew, until they were
obliged to sit on the edge, a pair of the sweetest twins one ever saw.
A storm came down from the mountains and surprised the faithful
little mother, but she sheltered the babies as best she could until
we came to the rescue with a gingham apron, which we pinned in place
above the nest, making a complete shelter for all. We kept this apron
in place for a week, or until the storm was over. People passing by
must have thought us very queer housekeepers to spread our washing in
the front yard, but we did not stop to explain.
By this time the bird had grown so trustful that we could do almost
anything without scaring her. We fed the young with syrup on the ends
of our fingers, while the mother looked on astonished. They would put
out their fine thread-like tongues and look at us from their tiny
black eyes, as if thanking us. Their bills had grown out until they
were quite respectable by the time the babies sat on the edge of the
nest.
[Illustration: LEAVING THE NEST.]
_Page 104._
[Illustration: Anna's Humming-Birds.]
As soon as the mother became tame enough, we took the pictures, as
you see them. While we stood at the nest, she would fly all about our
faces and look at our ears and eyes, and buzz at our hair in a very
funny way. Once we bent the twig from its place in the shrub, and
held it close to our faces, and the mother fed the young, brushing
our cheeks with her gauzy wings. Then we tied it back to its old
place when the mother had flown away. She came back and flew in our
faces, as if she expected to find the babies there. Not finding them
with us, she went back to the shrub as if nothing had happened.
It was a wonderful thing to have this shy bird so trustful and
willing to have her photograph taken.
The older of the two birds left the nest first, and we had hard work
to get him to be still enough for the last sitting. The mother came
down and sat between the two birds on the twig, and looked at the
bird who wouldn't keep still, as if she were scolding him.
She seemed just like a real person taking her baby to the artist's
to have his picture taken. Once two strange old hummers came when we
were taking the pictures, and bothered us a good deal. They made our
mother hummer nervous and cross, and she drove them away. It seemed
to us that these birds wanted to have their picture taken too, but
we could not quite catch them, because they were not well enough
acquainted with us and the camera.
One day the babies left the old battered nest and flew to the trees.
The rim of the nest was torn and worn away by the feet of the mother
as she stood to feed the young. We noticed that for a few days after
they were hatched she fed them every fifteen minutes, but as they
grew stronger she gave them their food only once an hour, or at even
longer intervals.
[Illustration: MOTHER BIRD POISED ON HUMMING WINGS.]
_Page 106._
After they had flown, there came a hard storm, and we went out in the
morning expecting to find the babies dead on the ground. But not so;
there they sat in the sunshine above our heads, as safe as could be.
They remained about in the yard for two or three weeks, when they
disappeared, no doubt going to the foothills to join their father at
sucking sweets and flitting among the vines.
[Illustration]