Speaking of urges, I was getting my hair done the other day, and Beth, one of the hairdressers, was reading aloud from the 2008 Farmer’s Almanac: According to this time honored source of weather predictions, hummingbirds are to begin their long trek back to the old flapping ground today, August 26th.

This tidbit sparked some interesting chatter about hummingbirds flying South for the Winter: They look so fragile. How do the little things manage? How far do they go each day? Do they fly in little spurts? Big spurts? Where do they end up?

After consulting a gazillion sources, I found out that any answers to hummingbird migration are ‘iffy’ and really depend on who you want to believe. One thing for sure, hummers can be spotted in one of three Winter homes.

For most, it’s down in Central America (between Mexico and South America) where the insects are big, juicy and plentiful. Some, however, remain along the Gulf Coast, perhaps too old or too young to attempt that 457 mile flight over water. Still others, prefer the Outer Banks of North Carolina. (For interesting hummingbird migration speculation, facts and artwork, check out this link.) To tell the truth, folks, how the humming bird manages to make such a long, lonely journey without eating every five minutes is a mystery.

Dan True, meteorologist and hummingbird photographer, suggests that a hummer crossing the U.S. could travel “the circle winds created by a super high, as far as 1,200 – 2,400 miles” before the high gives out. According to True, they may be in a “state of constant migration, traveling farther and with more purpose” than once imagined. People have often seen hummingbirds “flying through the mountains at 200 feet and occasionally 300 feet above ground – taking advantage of the Great Basin winds”. This way, they might be able to migrate in a full coast-to-coast circle, hopping the tail winds and munching along the way. Sounds mind boggling, doesn’t it?

How do they know when to leave? …When the days get shorter, of course.

Do they fly in flocks? When is the last time you saw a flock of hummers? OK, so that’s not a fair question, since an entire flock could be zipping by at the speed of light. The answer is….drum roll…..Hummingbirds never do anything together. They are solitary creatures and feisty ones at that. Anyone who has ever put up a backyard feeder knows how unsharing the little buggers can be. I hate to say it, but it’s the males that are most preoccupied with guarding all the food.

Never too preoccupied to copulate, though. (I know, I know) I just said that they don’t do anything together; but that’s impossible, ’cause they do follow the prime directive to perpetuate their own species, and this requires the usual form of togetherness. The courtship dance of the male hummingbird is by no means usual, though. Spectacular would be more like it.

Driven by extreme urges, he becomes more of a dare-devil than ever. First launching himself skyward 60 feet or more, he immediately nose-dives at the speed of light (about 50 mph), only to pull up at the last nanosecond and relaunch. This persistent fellow makes a U pattern again and again, amidst much chitterings and loud flappings of his wings. (choose me, choose me, choose me…)

Speaking of wings, hummers are the only birds that can rotate their wings in a circle, thus enabling them to fly backwards, forwards, sideways, upsidedown straight up or straight down, not to mention hover in place. Check out this pretty YouTube Video set to an old song that will probably bring back memories of teenage togetherness from long ago. (Uh oh, we’re perched on the verge of a sendoutcards moment*.)

Speaking of togetherness, when the female feels like it, she selects a mate —perhaps the most energetic dude catches her eye, or the one defending a territory that looks to be uncommonly rich in oil, I mean flowers, but that’s only if she’s smart. In any case, as soon as the male deposits his seed within her little body, the courtship is over. So is the honeymoon, for that matter. Fatherhood is not his forte, either.

Undaunted, the female goes on to build her nest, lay white pea-sized eggs (ideally two), become a mother and raise a family. The typical male mates again with several other females, as if he enjoys the idea of a harem. Then amped on the afterglow of numerous copulations, the male hummer goes off to war, his sole purpose being to conquer and defend the best and richest territory. It is reported or suggested that he does allow females with whom he has mated to feed off his flowers, but I have seen males attack females. Maybe they were just the ones that denied him, though. That’s why I try never to deny them a full tank of sugar water.

Anyone who has hung around a hummingbird feeder knows that you can be dive-bombed by the defending male, even while attempting to refill the receptacle with treats. Speaking of sugar water, Hummingbirds only use the sweet stuff as fuel—-a drug, if you will, to get them hopped up enough to snag boocoodles of succulent incects. Thanks to the mother’s regurgitation of insects into waiting mouths, the hummer is a carnivore from the get-go. Although, sometimes the tables can turn.

If you want to watch a sick YouTube video of a praying mantis eating a newly hatched hummer, then be my guest. On second, thought, I’m removing the link. Instead, you can see a video of two little hummers hatch, get taken care of, grow up and leave the nest.

Happy tails, I mean tales, Laura signing off

p.s. *Why sendoutcards, you ask? Because you can create and design your own hummingbird cards that the Great Printer prints, stuffs, stamps and mails—that’s why.