Here’s a true story, not invented. One of bewilderment and certainly not folly.
After a lo-o-o-ng, lonely migratory journey a male Rufous hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus) lands in the mountain meadows of the Wasatch Back just as vibrant green leaves and floral tubulars unfurl. He is here to claim or defend a nesting territory.
Two weeks later, a female hummingbird arrives and breeding season begins.
Even while the Rufous population is in steep decline (62%-72% over the past 50 years due to habitat loss and climate change) and is listed on the IUCN Red List as a Near Threatened species, this tiny iridescent bird survives to fly northward, west of the Rocky Mountains, every spring.
On the wing her flight speed averages 25 miles per hour as she follows the Pacific Coast Flyway, one of four migratory routes in North America. In just two to four days she may cover 2,000 miles or more from her wintering grounds in Mexico or Central America to the Canadian border, where she often returns year after year. She is a bird on a mission.
When this wild Rufous mama arrives in the Wasatch, she builds or refurbishes her nest. She is solely responsible for home building. The construction takes four to five days, unless it’s a remodel. This is how one determined hummingbird meets an instinctive deadline to begin new life.
The wings of a hummer vibrate 70 to 200 times per second, depending on the task. Whether seeking sustenance, shelter or nesting materials, the minuscule bird requires copious amounts of food — twice her body weight of 2-5 grams daily — to fuel her search for the moss, lichen, feathers, plant down or spider silk to build her nest.
As she darts to sweet-tasting flowers for nectar, we admire her precision and helicopter hover. A bird bright morning unfolds.
Before long, the bird sets her sights on a sticky web glistening in the dawn light. Nature’s lace is attached to the corner eve of a two-story building. An eight-legged inhabitant and the hummingbird’s protein-rich food source is missing. The skillful female flies in close and steals a piece of spider silk.
We marvel as she pulls a single strand in a gentle stretch. Then she is off, destined for her new home, trailing a thread of nature.
Typically, a tree limb 5-20 feet above ground or camouflaged in a bush is a good site for a small hummingbird nest — 1.5 inches in diameter.
This is not the case at my friend’s yard down the block. Every spring she welcomes the return of a mother hummer whose nest appears glued to the chain of an aging front porch swing.
Besides being perplexed by the unlikely nest selection, we are grateful for its position right outside a big window, our private front-row viewing station. Here we wait and watch for a natural world wonder — the miracle of birth.
A hummingbird’s gestation is 16-18 days, after which she lays one to three eggs a day apart. If we are lucky, we’ll glimpse the mother hummingbird laying her coffee bean-size eggs. Wiggle, wiggle, plop, plop.
The eggs must incubate for 15-18 days at a consistently warm 96 degrees. Cold weather can alter the outcome to add a few days before the chicks are born. Then the excitement begins.
Hummingbirds like most song birds, are altricial — born naked and blind. In about 10 days the baby birds sprout pin-like feathers and open their eyes. Unable to regulate their body temperature or feed themselves, they are truly helpless.
When the chicks feel the breath of their mother’s wings, they instinctively raise their tiny heads, open their short beaks and swallow the female’s regurgitated bugs and nectar. The feeding routine occurs every 20 minutes until the hatchlings fledge in about three weeks. Our favorite moment of truth.
Somehow, we feel chosen and a bit privileged when our avian friends return to share their home with us. Wild birds living in our common landscape entertain, bewilder and amaze. Especially the copper-colored, Rufous hummingbirds who survive against all odds and remind us what brilliant resilience looks like.
Leslie Miller is the co-editor of “Reimagining A Place for the Wild” and a former, long-time resident of Park City who now lives in Midway.