Fluff-and-Buff: Anna's Hummingbirds .. Dec 10

I started out intending to write about ‘Mr. Nasty,’  but is that any way to refer to a hummingbird?  But he is nasty.  From where I often sit at home I watch him … sitting up on a line coming from the street to the house.  That high perch is his attack lookout.  There he sits, just waiting for another hummingbird to have the audacity to sip from HIS hummingbird feeder.  Zoom!  Mad chase as soon as the newcomer enters our front yard.  It’s a wonder anyone gets a sip other than ‘Fluff-and-Buff.’  Fortunately for the others, Fluff-and-Buff sometimes has other matters to attend to, such as a good grooming and fluffing. Eventually others get their opportunity.

Winter has come to western Oregon.  Winter isn’t ferocious here, as it is in Wisconsin where I grew up.  Still, from a hummingbird’s point of view, it is winter.  Our rufous hummingbirds had the good sense to fly south weeks ago.  

The hardy little Anna’s hummingbirds come to our yard all winter.  A few decades ago they seldom ventured farther north than San Francisco, but now some go all the way to Vancuver, Canada.  To do so they survive week-long stretches of freezing weather and a definite lack of flowers to sip nectar from.  I know they prey on little insects too and we seem to have some of those all winter. 

I used to think I was supposed to take my hummingbird feeder down in the fall and nudge the little beasties South.  But one December my neighbor called to say a huddled lump was perched on her deck.  I’d broken my feeder.  Needless to say I quickly cobbled together a hummingbird feeder and hung it inches from the little bird.  I figured he was a goner.  No response.  But a couple of hours later he stirred.  Our duty of catering to a hummingbird had started.  On freezing days we took turns getting up early enough to assure a thawed hummingbird feeder was put out at first light.  Ten winters later we are still doing it. Most nights don't freeze here, so usually the feeder hangs all night.

Now I plan on feeding all winter.  The experts say it’s O.K. to do this.  I’m not keeping the hummingbirds here, just giving them a helping hand.   

When my neighbor telephoned about that cold hummingbird, I didn’t know about the little bird’s trick tucked up its sleeve, or is it ‘under its wing?’  Hummingbirds drop into a torpor to conserve energy.  Some drop their metabolism by as much as 95%.  Breathing slows and body temperature drops.  As a result their energy requirements drop too. 

 I’ve spent part of this morning standing quietly in my front yard, watching Fluff-and-Buff.  Much of the time he was less than ten feet away.  I knew we have two hummingbirds coming to our feeder on a regular basis, but I found out we have three:  two males and one female.  So which male is fluff-and-Buff?  I’m not sure.  Both are last summer’s youngsters just taking on full adult plumage.  One is just a little farther along than the other.  Hard to tell apart except with my photographs.  Amazing to think they can not only survive our December temperatures, but also have enough energy to grow their new set of feathers. 

Just started to get bright colors -- Dec 1

Same bird?  Dec. 10

The first photo was taken on December 1; the second was taken today.  But I can’t be sure if this is the same individual.  Both males I watched this morning are in the process of replacing drab throat feathers with a gorgeous iridescent gorget.   One is just a few days ahead of the other.

Fluff-and-Buff has another trick tucked up his sleeve.  I read recently that hummingbirds are great mimics.  That surprised me. I associate mimicking with mockingbirds, corvids, parrots and such; not hummingbirds.  But as I watch, I realize Fluff-and-Buff spends a lot of time singing his little heart out.  He sits all fluffed up with his throat vibrating … but I can’t hear a darn thing.  Drat.  Is it my ears or human ears in general?  I've sometimes heard snatches, but their song is so high and so quiet.  He obviously has a lot to say.  I just wish I could hear it.

Oh!  I just remembered.  Those little imps have one more trick.  Did you know a hummingbird bill’s are flexible?  It’s the oddest thing to see. 

Honoring My Mother

Barn Owl

Last May I meant to write a Mother's Day blog post as I did the year before .... but life was busy at the time.  Now, about six months later, I think I'll do something along that line.  To be honest I haven't been in the mood to write a regular blog post.  I was so ready for the election to be over ... and, now, even more disturbed by how unsettled the political world is right now.

We went to the Klamath Basin right after the election.  I hardly drew a thing and wrote few notes.  At least on our recent day-trips I've been burying myself in sketching again and I'm sure the words will soon fly.  It isn't like me to be in a funk.

Danny Gregory, a well known sketch artists who has worked through difficult times has a good comment on the subject in his recent post:

Don't fear change.  Create ways to change with it. 

Maybe we all need to work at little harder at nurturing the changes we want to see happen.  

Bald Eagle

Back to the reason for this blog:

Even though my mother, Fran (Frances) Hamerstrom died eighteen years ago, memories of her influence are alive and well.  Earlier this spring the Wisconsin Historical Society published a book for young readers call "Fran and Frederick Hamerstrom: Wildlife Conservation Pioneers"  -- by Susan Tupper.  

A Baby great horned owl ... like one I raised as a child.

And more recently the October 2016 Raptor Research Foundation held their fifth anniversary convention.  Two young women, Katie Harrington and Rebecca McCabe, organized a panel entitled "Women in Raptor Research: Trailblazers for the Next Generation."  They asked me if I'd be willing to donate a piece of art for each of the panelists.

At first I thought, "Oh my gosh, no!"  But they gave me lots of warning and I made a point of not committing until I knew I'd really get the paintings done.  It was nice to hear there are active raptor researchers who appreciate my mother's influence.  I did seem like a nice way for me to honor my mother and the efforts of these women. 

My mother and her golden eagle

... and for those of you who don't know who my mother was I'll just put a little thumbnail here.  For more look her up and read her books. 

My mother was born a Boston debutant, but she happily gave up the fancy East Coast life for a lifetime of ornithology with my father, Frederick Hamerstrom.  From 1949 until their deaths they lived in a pre-Civil War house without plumbing and studied prairie chickens for the Wisconsin Conservation Department (now called the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources) ... and they did a lot of raptor research in their spare time.  My favorite of my mother's books is, "An Eagle to the Sky." 

A peregrine perched along the Oregon Coast

and here are the rest of the paintings:

another great horned owl

A pygmy owl ... fairly common in western Oregon

Another great horned owl ... do you think they might have a special place in my heart?