A Day on the Porch, part 1: Morning

“I just really can’t believe how violent hummingbirds are!” little Shirley cried from the porch swing as blurred wings scrambled about her head, zipping all over, left and right, up and down, terse movements having no apparent accordance with the sky; they fought with pointed scepter-beaks whenever another would draw near, shouting, “It’s my nectar! It’s mine!”

— “No, it’s mine!”

— “Mine!”

— “Mine!”

The five bird feeders, just filled, had already begun to drain of their sugar water as if they’d all sprung a leak.

“Yep, sure are ravenous little fellas, aren’t they?” Grandpa chuckled next to her. “A few of them are especially proud. Look at that fella there . . . he doesn’t want anyone near his nectar!”

The screen door opened then smacked shut again as Shirley’s big brother, Walter, stepped out onto the porch to join her and Grandpa. “Wow, Gramps! I’ve never seen so many before!” he cried.

“Oh, this is nothing yet,” Grandpa hollered over the roar of wings. “Just wait till they’re all awake! Bomb diggity! That’s when things really turn up!”

Ruby red necks flashing like crimson diamonds in the morning sun, the little birds fought and ate, an intricate dance requiring the most detailed precision imaginable. Shirley examined their feisty movements as they sped like darts in and out of the shade of the porch. She tried counting them, but that was impossible; instead she’d follow one’s movements for a while before moving to the next. They always seemed to get preoccupied for a while, flying off a few feet and looking around as they hovered in place, but then they’d go right back to their feeding, fighting frenzy.

“I’ve even seen them knock each other out of the air before!” the old man laughed. “I’ve had to carefully pick them up off the lawn down there and nurse them back to health.”

“Don’t they get scared?” Shirley asked. She knew she would if a big hand were grasping her entire body.

Grandpa giggled again and said, “I’m sure they do, Shirl, I’m sure they do! But they’ve got no choice, now do they? They’re knocked out when I pick them up anyway. No harm in that. Key’s not to squeeze them too tight. That hurts the poor things,” he explained.

The acrobat show continued on, the hundreds of blurred wings an ever-ubiquitous drone, lifting the air in a spectacular symphony of sight and sound, and the birds chasing off their enemies with dagger-beaks brandished, slicing and stabbing, pushing and shoving and eating, back and forth and again.

“Now I know why Grandma likes them so much!” Walter said. “They’re about as wild as she is!”

Grandpa burst into tears of laughter and patted his grandson on the small of his back. “You got that right, kiddo. Got that right.”

“What did you say about me?” Grandma asked playfully, bursting out onto the porch, towel in hand, in such a grand appearance that the hummingbirds fled for several seconds and the ducks out on the pond escaped to the air, thinking the slam of the screen door was the report of a gunshot.

“Oh, nothing!” Walter yelped. “Nothing, Gram!”

Shirley giggled in the swing. “You little fib!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, boy,” Grandma said, pointing at him with both a serious face and a playful glint in her eye. “You just wait till I sprout my wings when I die. I’ll be the biggest hummingbird there ever was. Watch out!”

Shirley and Walter giggled hysterically as Gram went back to the kitchen, just as fast as she had come.

“Pancakes are ready, by the way!” she called over her shoulder.

The children rushed to the door in glee, hungry as hummingbirds and just as ready to fend for their meal.