Hum along with me

They are tiny, irredescent acrobats. Their smallness inspires the casual observer to think "adorable" and "delicate." But they are bellicose warriors of the sky, extremely territorial, and capable of putting on an aeronautic display to rival the dogfights of World War II pilots.

A juvenile hummingbird flies past a butterfly bush.

Hummingbirds are incredible creatures, the only birds capable of flying backwards, with wings that beat so fast (more than 50 beats per second in the case of the ruby-throated) that they are invisible to the human eye when the birds fly. You often hear one before you see one: a loud hum that brings to mind the buzz of potenially huge bumblebee. Hummers have long, thin beaks with specialized tongues; though you might think they suck up the nectar like humans might suck up the ambrosia of a rootbeer float, their tongues instead trap their liquid food and delivers it back into their mouths.  (A set of great videos on physorg.com show how it's done--in slow motion.)

A juvenile hummingbird shows off the long beak it needs to reach nectar. You can tell it's not an adult by the "5 o'clock shadow"--dark stippled feathers on its neck.

Flower power
In September of 2004, about a month after we moved into our house on the first ridge of the Watchung mountains here in New Jersey, we saw our first hummer. This poor guy mistakenly thought the fuschia-colored flowers on our patio umbrella were the hummingbird equivalent of an all-you-can-eat buffet. He eventually realized it was all a sham, but we were thrilled, because we knew hummingbirds were in the area, and we might be able to see more of these little creatures.

A female hummer is looking to feed on the flowers in a hanging basket.

Rest stop on the New Jersey flyway
Over the years since then, we've learned a lot about hummingbirds. First of all, it's important to put out their special feeders before the first individual of this migratory species flies through in the spring. There are maps available online that tell you when the first wave of hummers are likely to appear in your area; ruby throated hummingbirds start showing up in our neck of the woods around April 1. The males--whose iridescent throat feathers give the species its name--show up first, with the females coming by a few weeks later.

A male ruby-throated hummingbird shows off the iridescent jewel-toned feathers that give the species its name.

I set out my feeders in mid to late March--just in case someone shows up unfashionably early, but I usually don't see the birds until a week or two into April. Hummingbird websites will tell you that if you put the feeders out early enough--and make sure they are clean and full--you may get a few birds to stop by and perhaps stay in the area, instead of continuing their migration and heading further north.

This female shows the  more subtle colors of her gender.

Attracting attention
I've also learned that hummingbirds are somewhat picky about the feeders they like. My husband bought me a beautiful brass and glass feeder, but the birds flew by it like my dad driving by McDonald's on the way to Le Bec Fin--with nary a show of interest. I tried putting fake flowers on it, and painting the feeder ports bright red, but even though our first hummingbird visitor was interested enough to try to feed from those two dimensional images on the umbrella, no hummers took the slightest interest in my pretty feeder.

A little bit of research later, and I found a bright red, somewhat tacky-looking feeder made by Perky Pet. (I have since found these in many places both online and in brick-and-mortar stores.) The reviews were nothing short of spectacular. Not only did this feeder attract the birds, but it was easy to clean because the nectar container was made of glass--an important quality as hummingbird nectar is an ideal medium for mold, and thus the feeders have to be regularly cleaned out. And it featured perches at each of its feeder ports, which supposedly makes it even more attractive; like getting a seat at a table instead of standing at the bar, it means the birds don't have to use as much energy when they eat. And tiny hummingbirds are all about energy efficiency.

Against my aesthetic and artistic sense, I bought the Tacky Feeder; the reviews held true, and the hummers love it.

A male rests on a perch of the Tacky Feeder, the evening sun turning his ruby throat amber.

On a lark (bird pun!), I also invested in a few window feeders that seemed to have the same qualities as the plastic one, yet were a quite a bit more aesthetically pleasing. Made by Holland Hill, and incorporating simple test tubes (which appealed to my inner scientist), these feeders also attracted the birds, though they seemed to provide a second-rate feeding experience, because the hummers would nearly always start at Tacky Feeder and only come to the window feeders if the food had gone bad or missing, or if another hummer was already feeding there.

A male hovers as he decides whether to dine on a Holland Hill window feeder.

The benefit to me and my family, though, was that the window feeders brought the birds up close and personal, and we could watch them from just a few feet away. And the Holland Hill feeders were simple, pretty, well designed--and easy to clean and fill.

A female demonstrates the benefits of a perch: a relaxed meal.

One might think that with four perches on Tacky Feeder, four birds could easily feed in kumbayah harmony. But, alas, the pretty feathers on these adorable teensy birdies are window dressing on fierce and quite territorial creatures.

I only saw this only once: two birds at the feeder simultaneously. Because they were on opposite sides of the feeder, I don't think they saw each other at first. The guy on the left seems to be stretching his neck out in realization that someone was breaking the rules.

Bird dogfighting
Often, in between drinks at the Tacky Feeder bar, a bird would sit on top of the shepherd's hook from which the feeder hung. The hummer would chase any and all other fliers away, proclaiming this as his--or her--feeder.  I'd watch in fascination as the birds would zip and zoom through the air, dive bombing each other and literally battling with their beaks as they flew. You could hear the humming of their wings and the clacking of their beaks as they fought in flight. The victor would return to sit atop the shepherd's hook. The vanquished would sit on a tiny branch in my maple tree, planning his or her next attack.

Though I wasn't able to catch a hummer sitting on top of the shepherd's hook, this one may have been heading there. Maybe next year, I'll catch one on guard duty.

The photographer in me really wanted to try to capture these fast-moving birds, and throughout the season, I would keep my camera close by. Necessities for this endeavor included a telephoto zoom lens, a very fast shutter speed, a continuous shooting setting, a steady arm--and lots of patience.

This bird's tail feathers are spread in an effort to slow down as it comes in for a landing.

Hummingbird wings beat so fast that many of the pictures I took were either out of focus, or the blur of the wings covered up the faces or bodies of the birds. I took hundreds of photos, choosing a few
favorites for this post.

Having just landed, this hummingbirds wings slowed down enough for me to capture them in the image.

Here we are now in mid October, and I think the last of the hummers have passed by on their way south; I haven't seen one in about two weeks. It's time to take the feeders down, clean them for the winter and put them away--until next spring when I look forward to when these bright aerialists return to the mountaintop.

Caught mid-flight, a hummer sails away.

It's Not All Butterflies and Rainbows

A few weeks back, my post featured butterflies, those soaring flowers of the sky. Gorgeous creatures, all. But I have many other visitors to my yard and garden, who might not have the glitz and glory of those pretty insects.

Below are some other garden guests, including some butterflies who were late arrivals this summer, and didn't make it into my first post. By this time of year--late summer--you can see the wear and tear on  butterfly wings. No longer pristine and smooth, wings show rough spots and jagged edges. Yet it doesn't seem to slow them down.  This year, I've had quite a few first-time butterflies.

As a total beginner in identifying these gorgeous creatures, I often found myself on GardensWithWings.com, particularly their identification page. That truly is the only way I figured out who my visitors were.

I saw this Giant swallowtail only once. A little battered, this big beauty was still quite spectacular, boasting a 5-inch wingspan.

There are several butterflies in the northeast that feature orange and black patterns, so they are easy to confuse. This Pearl Crescent is so named because of a half-moon shape on its ventral side. Of course, this individual only allowed me a close look at the dorsal side (shown here), but I still believe I identified him correctly.

I think this is one of my favorites among the newcomers. Although it's called a Red-spotted purple, this butterfly's wings are a spectacular iridescent blue on the dorsal side. I love this picture because you can clearly see the proboscis, basically a rolled-up straw butterflies use to suck up nectar.

This is another view of the Red-spotted purple. I think this guy was posing.

On the ventral side of the Red-spotted purple's wings, you can see the red spots that inspire the name. After I looked up this butterfly online, I learned that it likes ripe fruits. And once I put out peaches, strawberries and bananas, I saw this species in my garden almost daily, slurping my butterfly fruit salad. Unfortunately, the buffet was open to all, and the Red-spotted was also joined by yellow jackets, fruit flies and other nuisance insects and I had to close it down.

So even though myriad butterfly species visited my garden, they weren't the only creatures with many representatives showing up amidst my flowers. Other pollinators--specifically bees--flew into town.

I was particularly thrilled to see honeybees in my garden. They had nearly disappeared, probably due to the mysterious illness known as colony collapse disorder, which destroyed thousands of hives.  Here's our sweet pollinator on Verbena bonariensis, a perennial that was a gift from the garden of my oldest friend, Cathy, whom I've known since third grade.

I admit, I'm not great at bee identification, so I'm not sure of the species here. This creature visited in the early morning, casting his shadow in one of my fall-blooming asters.

Bumble bees love my anemone. I often see several trying to climb into one flower, where it seems pretty obvious to me that there's really only room for one. This picture amuses me, as the one bee looks like he is knocking at the door; I can imagine the other one calling out, "Occupied!"

In addition to the flying insects, there are also creepy crawlies, like this caterpillar.

I believe this is a yellow bear caterpillar, identifiable by the extra long hairs on his body. About the shape and size of the black and brown wooly bear that many of us often see in the fall, this charming fuzzball turns into a Virginian tiger moth, a beautiful  nighttime flier that looks like it's wearing a cape of bright white fur. I believe I've encountered one of these fine specimens on a warm summer evening.

This looks like a type of ladybird beetle, often called a ladybug. I don't mind seeing these little guys in my garden, because they hunt mites and other nasty plant destroyers.

I have no clue what this incredible insect is--some kind of beatle, er beetle, I think. Based on its '70s-era flower-power coat of vibrant colors, I think perhaps "beatle" may be more appropriate.

Not everyone who visits my garden wants his or her presence known. If you look carefully, you can see past the camouflage and discover other inhabitants.

This moth was tucked under a leaf, a very pale green, just about invisible.

Can you spot the grasshopper-type insect here? Talk about invisible!

We even get to see our share of dragonflies and damselflies. I really like these guys because they feast on the gnats that sometimes plague my backyard--and prey on me--often making it very difficult to go outside without some kind of citronella coating.

Trying to capture them with the camera is a bit of challenge, usually resulting in blurry pictures or photos of sticks that used to have an insect on them. I was lucky a few times, though, and got these two beauties to stay still long enough and to let me snap off a few shots.

I'm sure some entomologist somewhere can identify this bright red aeronaut with gossamer wings. Check out the tiny red spots on those wings--like finding just the right earrings to go with your outfit!

I was able to identify this blue and black dragonfly--a Twelve-spotted skimmer (Libellula pulchella)--by using the cool new Google search feature where you can upload an image and it will find similar pictures.

And then there are the creatures who don't seem to know what they are, but are fascinating in their uniqueness, like the Hummingbird clearwing moth, shown below.  Hummingbird? Well, they are only a little smaller than those lovely birds (who also visit my yard--I'll feature them in a future post). And they hover just like the hummers do. Clearwing? Well, yes, if you see the wings; just like the hummingbirds, they beat so fast, you can't see them unless you have a camera with a fast shutter speed to stop the motion. Moth? According to the books, that's what they are, though they are daytime fliers, hanging out with the butterflies and bees in the bright sun.

Hummingbird clearwing moth showing off its clearly beautiful wings.

So while it's not always butterflies and rainbows (and unicorns) in my yard, I welcome all and sundry. It's one of the reasons I love my gardens so much; not only do I get to enjoy the flowers, but I am providing food and shelter for all kinds of living things. And, in return, they provide me with a daily dance of beauty and fascination.

After Irene

It rained and raged and stormed and blew. By the next morning, though, the rain had let up a bit. And by early afternoon, all that was left of Hurricane Irene was the wind. We were unscathed for the most part: a few downed branches, puddles that were more like ponds throughout the yard, and green leaves everywhere that had been stripped from the trees. We even had electricity until about 2 pm, but then our generator kicked in and our pumps continued to pump. We had no internet or phone service for two days, until the "real" power came back on.

We were spared. Living on the first ridge of the Watchung Mountains certainly has its benefits.While our house doesn't have a million-dollar view (we live on what I like to call the backside of the mountain), all the water does flow downhill. So, while our basement floods if we aren't pumping, we do not have to worry about rivers overflowing. 

Unfortunately, so many of the towns nearby--a mere 5 minute drive from our home--were inundated. Homes were destroyed. Lives uprooted. Basements flooded to ceilings. I can just barely comprehend what those folks are going through, since we dealt with our flood a year and a half ago. My little picture story of our experiences doesn't begin to compare, so I'll share it simply. My heart goes out to the people who still have lots of recover ahead of them.

As for us, on Sunday morning, Irene was dragging her rear end through New Jersey. It was still raining, and the cats continued to enjoy the Blowing Leaves Channel on the Window TV.

Athena watching Cat TV.

The dogs needed to go out, so we braved the weather, but by that time, the rain had slowed quite a bit.

Many branches littered the yard. A dog's paradise: more sticks than even Jasper and Tucker could chew in a day...maybe even a week.

Lilah surveys the damage to my butterfly bushes. Every one was blown over.

Our driveway had become a stream.

Speaking of streams, here's a "before" picture of one of the streams in our woods.

And here's the "after." In the background, you can see how the plants on the side of the stream were flattened by the rushing water; by the time I took this picture, much of it had receded.

The next day, we went for our regular morning walk. Instead of the peace and quiet of an early stroll, with birdsong in our ears, we were treated to the cacophony of multiple generators; so many people were still without power.

As always, Lilah leads the way on our walk.

This was not an usual sight. Throughout our neighborhood, trees rested on wires; in any normal circumstances, this would have been taken care of within hours. In many cases, days went by before trees were removed. If it wasn't an immediate danger or affected power, it stayed.

A bonus: downed trees meant there were sticks to play with on the walk.

We saw lots of wildlife on our walk. The dogs were not allowed to chase that deer you see in the background. Instead, we practiced Leave It--as in, pay attention to me instead of that thing you're really interested in. But it was a deer!

As usual, Jasper checks for squirrels in his favorite Squirrel Yard. Came up empty this time, but maybe they'll show up on our next walk. One can always hope.

When cars came by, we practiced our Sits and Stays off the road.

Ahhh...home. The sun is coming up and dinner is sure to follow once we get inside.

Later that day in our backyard, we saw a hawk on our pool fence drying out wings in the sun. He's an immature bird, not fully grown, and I'm not that great at identifying immatures, but my best guess is he's a young Cooper's Hawk.

As the days have gone by, more debris has been cleaned up. Piles of soggy belongings appeared on the sides of streets in towns like Manville and Bound Brook, indicating flooded basements. The remnants of Hurricane Lee came pouring through, adding more wet insult to injury with severe storms. 

But over the past week or so, we straightened out our butterfly bushes, attaching them to our deck with the bungee cords we had used to tie down our furniture. The branches are picked up and the creek beds are back to normal level.

I think some of our local wildlife suffered. I've only seen one flying squirrel since the storm. And some nights the peanut butter I leave out goes untouched. And only a solitary gray squirrel has visited our feeders during the day; Brian saw him. I haven't seen a one.

But the butterflies are back, and we've seen the sun a few times. Things are getting back to normal on the "mountaintop." 

A monarch feasting on buddleia (butterfly bush).

Battening Down the Hatches, Hunkering Down and Dodging Bullets

Henceforth, I declare that I will never, ever use the following expressions:

• Batten down the hatches


• Hunker down


• Dodge a bullet

The arrival of Hurricane Irene on the east coast of the U.S. caused an outbreak of these expressions--dare I say an epidemic. I woulda thunk that somewhere, somehow, there would be at least one creative talking head who did NOT use one or all of those expressions when reporting on this historic storm.

At least none of my cats or dogs did. Nor will I in this post.

For the most part, they ignored Irene.

Jasper is trying to ignore the activity as we prepare for Irene's arrival. For some reason, Playing with Dogs wasn't on the list of things to do.

Preparing for the worst, with help from the dogs
The humans, though, found it hard to ignore. The rain wasn’t that dramatic, and although it was windy, we didn’t get the full brunt of Mother Nature’s intensity.  Before Irene hit, Brian and I spent most of Saturday tying down lawn furniture, stowing plant pots, and removing blowable items, to prevent them from becoming missiles during the hurricane.

Before Irene: our deck. Everything had to be stowed.

Chairs, umbrella and plants removed; glass from the tabletop stored in the shed.

Every pillow, cushion, table and plant had to be accounted for.

After everything was as ready as we could make it, Dr. Lilah inspected.

Previously, we had gone shopping, buying water and human, cat and dog food to last us for a week. We didn’t need batteries, as we always have tons; flashlights are always on hand for nighttime dog walking.

Once flooded, twice shy 
As Irene bore down upon us, we watched The Weather Channel almost obsessively. A year and a half ago, after a particularly wet spring, the power went out during a heavy thunderstorm. Despite a panicked run to Home Depot to buy a generator, and a group effort to pull things out of our basement, we wound up with 8 inches of water there. Doesn’t sound like much if it’s never happened to you, but it was enough to ruin a huge amount of our stuff—and took us nearly a year to clean up afterwards.

From last year's flood; only a small portion of the stuff we lost.

After we cleaned everything out of the basement, the remediator brought a few fans to help dry it out. This is NOT all of them.

I can only begin to imagine the fear and loss that so many people here in New Jersey and throughout the northeast felt and are feeling from the devastation that Irene wreaked. My hearts go out to them; our little flood does not compare.

With money from the insurance (plus a lot more we added), we installed better drains and improved sump pumps in the basement, and then created a finished room. Most important, we also installed a gas-powered generator that automatically turns on 3 seconds after we lose power.

The generator is the only reason I wasn’t panicked during Irene. Because I’ve had two flooded basements in my lifetime—and that is two too many.

That said, I was a bit concerned about the storm. As Irene approached the wind and rain began and intensified. The Weather Channel had our area under a tornado warning. And the gorgeous old maple tree by our patio was looking too darn close to the house.

Big tree. Near house. Very pretty, but a little scary when you consider the hurricane force winds that were expected with Irene.

Raining cats and dogs
During the afternoon, the rain and winds came in earnest. Lilah barely noticed it was raining. I’m not sure if she cared about the wind. But the two boys, Jasper and Tucker, Do Not Like Getting Wet. And, while they’ve learned to got outside and Potty when it rains, this was a little over the top. 

Each time I took the dogs out, after they did their business, Jasper would stand next to me and Tucker would try to shelter under me, sitting as close as he could to my legs. Lilah ran around splashing in puddles and sniffing Good Sniffs.  When it got too much for them, Jasper and Tucker would bolt for the door, hoping for the opposable thumbs that would enable them to get out of the rain without having to wait for me to help them.

"Hey, let us in! It's starting to rain!"

Our routine when the dogs come in from a wet outside is that they wait by the door on the bath mat we have there—just for soaking up wet dog paws. And then we play Treats for the Feets. That’s when I towel off a doggy and then he or she gets a treat for each foot that I dry. Lilah loves it, and Tucker says it’s worth it for the treat. But Jasper just hates having me Do Things to him, so he’s always last, and, while he lets me dry off each foot, it’s grudgingly, and only just barely worth the proffered treat.

During the storm, Dawn and Athena went about their normal cat duties: prowling, sleeping, pouncing and hunting bugs. 

The night of the hurricane, Athena seemed blissfully unaware.

The windows, otherwise known as Cat TV, seemed to be tuned to a different channel; normally it’s the Birdie Chipmunk Squirrel channel. For no discernable reason (to the cats), someone had changed it to the Blowing Leaves Channel. Still good viewing, though, and both Dawn and Athena were amused until it got too dark to see.

We took some of the more vulnerable plants inside and put them on the table in the dining room. The plastic tablecloth made a fantastic cat cave where it covered the chairs. The next day, there were little pinprick holes in the tablecloth. Athena must have been redecorating; I think she was going for the Night Sky look.

Blowing in the wind
When night came, we closed all the curtains to minimize flying glass should our windows break. Dawn and Athena were sent to their basement lair, where I had the crates open and ready in case we needed to transport the cats. The misses were a little perturbed because they only like going into the basement when it’s their idea—not when they’re sent there by lowly humans. But it’s comfy and there are plenty of soft and hidey cat places. Tolerable, I guess.

The dogs and Brian and I camped out in the living room all night, as it was far from the part of the house where the big maple might land.  Aaron slept in his bedroom, a bit disappointed and wishing the storm was bigger and more exciting; I think he wanted a Jim Cantore moment: standing outside in the rain and getting blown sideways. (For those of you who are not Weather Channel geeks like I am, Jim Cantore is one of their star meteorologists, and they always send him to the place they think will get the worst weather. My daughter, who lives in Manhattan, texted me before the storm arrived to say, “Jim Cantore is being sent to NYC. We’re screwed.”)

The dogs were thrilled to be in the living room, since I slept on the floor on an old comforter. Which, to a dog, is simply a very long dog bed. And it was the best kind of bed, because they could all snuggle up next to me.  Which they did. It would have been kind of fun, actually, if there wasn’t a hurricane raging outside.

Jasper on my--excuse me, his--bed where we spent the night.

So, with cats in the basement, humans and dogs camped in the living room, we passed the night, sometimes sleeping, sometimes listening to the wind and rain.

To be continued…my next post will be about the end of the storm and the aftermath.