When I got to the Hummingbird Festival, I was given a packet of directions to the various functions (banquet, hummingbird garden breakfast, hummingbird banding demonstration). There was an address on each sheet, but I didn’t see any other identification.
On my last free morning in Sedona, I got up early to go to a hummingbird breakfast in a spectacular private garden. I had missed my garden date the day before; I was still working on my hummingbird talk. I wanted it to be the best it could be, and it came out well, but only because I gave it the days of work it needed to be good.
I followed the directions on the sheet and headed out, watching amazed as hot air balloons began rising against the rocks. I was charmed by this until a more Sedona-wise friend kind of snorted and said something like, “Damn balloons, cluttering up the view.” It had never occurred to me that hot air balloons might be anything other than magical. I laughed with delight at our differing perspectives. I suppose if you’ve seen enough of them, hot air balloons could be seen as clutter. Yeah, I get it.
It took me awhile to find the place, but when I did, this was the view from their yard:
Holy smokes. Imagine seeing that in every light and weather condition, every day!
I saw a sign in the street pointing toward the backyard that said, “Hummingbird Banding Demonstration.” But there was not a soul stirring. Whoops. I’d followed the directions all right, but I’d come an hour and a half too early, to the wrong place! This wasn’t a hummingbird garden breakfast. This was the 8:30 banding demo. At 7 AM.
Now what?
Well, I didn’t want to wake anyone up, but I’d come all this way and I had a notion there must be something pretty wonderful in that backyard.
So I disappeared.
I put on my Cloak of Invisibility, turned on my sonar, tuned in, and melted into the background.
Emboldened by the signage, I made my way silently into the backyard and took in the scene: a multitude of the heavenly host, buzzing around many sparkling clean large-capacity feeders.
I was looking right into the sun, though. To get any kind of shots, I’d have to have the sun at my back. I’d have to walk right across their backyard. And the back of the house was all window and patio.
So I swung wide, out into the scrub, and moved quietly across the back of the property. Then I swung back toward the house and melded myself with a chain link fence and some shrubbery.
And magic began to happen.
A pair of Gambel’s quail stepped lightly across the path at my feet.
Oh good morning, Handsome!
All the hummingbirds that had been wary of me at first completely ignored me. This immature Anna’s hummingbird was intent on guarding his feeder.
His half-finished pink gorget was like a brooch at his throat.
When he turned his head the right way, I could catch a glimpse of the glittering cerise helmet he’d wear as an adult.
An immature black-chinned hummingbird was identifiable because it looked to me like a rubythroat, with a slightly longer, decurved bill. Both are genus Archilochus.
An adorable rufous hummingbird flitted against what looked like aloe flowers.
What a treat to see these birds at their ease! I don’t like photographing hummingbirds at feeders; I like natural vegetation. I was in hog heaven here.
I watched a young rufous hummingbird feeding at crape myrtle. It made me miss my crape myrtle at home.
With enough light, even I can get a decent hummingbird photo. See how the wings are frozen? You can do that in the brilliant sunlight of early morning.
Suddenly I heard a door open, and a clatter. The homeowner came out to check and refill some feeders. Ack ack ack. Here I was in plain sight leaning against his back fence, still 40 minutes early to the event. How embarrassing! I melted away even more, hoping not to be discovered. Truthfully, I was thoroughly enjoying my solitude, my audience with fairies.
Inwardly I was squirming, because the last thing I wanted to do was announce myself and scare the bejabbers out of this innocent man. So I stayed mute, and visualized myself as part of the vegetation.
He looked right at me, squinting into the sun, looked to the side, checked a feeder, filled another, checked a trap, looked at me again. To my utter amazement, he looked right at me several times, but he never saw me.
Perhaps it was the sun’s angle. Or perhaps I had truly succeeded in becoming invisible.
All those years of wearing dung-colored clothing and trying to be unobtrusive had paid off!
He went back into the house, and I relaxed again. Soon the official event would start and I could just be part of the crowd.
I settled back into my solitude.
But wait. Who’s this?
Isn’t that a Costa’s hummingbird? I’d heard that one had shown up at one of the festival event sites. I wondered how many people would have given their eyeteeth to be standing where I was at this moment. I certainly would have!
Yes, that was a different little bird. That steep forehead, that strange half-circle around the eye, the compact dumpy shape. Had to be the Costa’s. And here he was all tee’d up, just for me!
Look at your little V-shaped violet gorget!
Exit, Stage Left!
If you want to see what this bird will look like next year, by all means click
this link. Warning: Real Hummingbird Photography by Alan Murphy Ahead. Swoon!!
What an amazing morning I’d had. What a gift, to have gotten my days and addresses all backerds. It brought me to this oasis, to beautiful hummingbirds, sitting at their ease.
And I had successfully disappeared. That was the best part of all.
Julie Zickefoose is a painter and writer who lives on a nature sanctuary in Appalachian Ohio. She is the author of Letters from Eden and The Bluebird Effect: Uncommon Bonds With Common Birds, due in spring 2012. http://juliezickefoose.blogspot.com
Source:
http://juliezickefoose.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-art-of-disappearing.html
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