A refreshing exercise in futility

The question, of course, is why bother trying to get more hummingbird photos? I have tons already, and it's not at all easy to get good ones because hummies move so quickly--and besides, it's hot out, hot enough to make sweat roll down my face and neck and back until I feel slippery all over, and it's hard to hold the big lens steady with sweaty hands. And then after all that waiting and sweating, I end up with photos that look pretty similar to hundreds of others I've taken over the years.

The answer, though, is that the experience is more important than the result. I'm outside under blue skies on a pleasant summer evening, and all around me things are happening. When I step out the front door, a spotted fawn bounds right across the front lawn and up the hill, and chipmunks are constantly skittering over the rocks along the edge of the driveway. Chimney swifts go chittering past overhead but a more distinct call directs my attention to the top of a telephone pole, where I'm just in time to see a red-bellied woodpecker feed its young. When the adult flies away, Junior sits there with his beak open as if to say, "Feed me! Feed me!"

And hummingbirds constantly zip and zoom to the three feeders, some standing guard nearby and then chasing others away. They perch on the power line, dip their long tongues into magnolia blossoms, swarm the feeder on the porch and then disappear before I can lift the camera to my eye. We were late putting out the hummingbird feeders this year out of concern for the phoebes nesting on the porch, but the phoebes have abandoned the nest so up went the hummingbird feeders. The one close to the main birdfeeding station gets little attention, but the minute I turn my back, I can hear the hummies right behind me visiting the one feeder that's outside my range of vision.

My presence out front scares away some birds, but I'm more interested in intimidating the pesky squirrel that has found a way to get up onto the biggest birdfeeder. I can look out any time of day and see a big bushy tail hanging down below the feeder while the squirrel gobbles all the goodies it can get, but it took a while to figure out how the squirrel is getting up there: it's climbing up a nearby maple tree and jumping from the end of a branch. Time to move the feeder.

I try to keep track of all the species I encounter but I quickly lose track. A pair of mourning doves is playing chase up on the power line while a bluejay dives into the canopy of the sweet-gum tree and little yellow butterflies go flitting past, and then something zips through the tall grass near my feet--a snake! My eyes dart from one flash of movement to another, trying to get a clear view of some brilliant flash of color before it disappears. It's hopeless, of course: I end up with the same old photos of the same old birds, but after sitting there among them for a time, I somehow don't feel like the same old me.

"Feed me!"

I can see you back there.

Mourning dove, before the chase.

Not colorful but curious.