海角大神

I always imagined I鈥檇 be a good birder one day. I鈥檇 have a life species list in the triple digits and the confidence to level a finger in the direction of a 鈥渃hip鈥� note in the brush and slap an ID on it. But it was not to be. I鈥檓 no good at it. I finally had to acknowledge this the day I spent trailing a real birder. Toward evening, a beautiful song erupted from the woods. 鈥淥h! What鈥檚 that one?鈥� I asked. She looked at me with a mixture of unbelief and fatigue and emitted, 鈥淭hat鈥檚 still a cardinal.鈥�

Nevertheless, after decades, I鈥檝e gotten pretty good at the 20 or so regular bird visitors to my garden. And now I have a new aspiration. I want to be able to tell individual birds apart. You know, my personal birds.

I know it鈥檚 possible because my friend Julie knows all her birds by name, and their hat sizes, and whether they鈥檙e drop-in types or she should call first, and everything. So when you ask her about a particular bird, she might haul out a species name; but she might also say, 鈥淥h, that鈥檚 Fred.鈥� Fred looks a little different, or acts a little different. Fred has that arrogant cant to his shoulder and a quelling eye. She knows. It鈥檚 all a matter of observation.

My new project is showing promise. In the small birdscape outside my window, I鈥檓 noticing individuals. I have a female house finch in residence who has cowlicks over both ears. So there鈥檚 one. I have a chickadee with a bum foot. There鈥檚 two.

I thought my ability to distinguish our local hummingbirds would be confined to telling the females from the males, which is easy, because their outfits are different. But there鈥檚 way more going on than that. I get a good look because, like many people, I put out a nectar feeder. That鈥檚 mainly for my benefit, to draw them close. Hummingbirds get plenty of juice from my flowers. But they also eat insects and spiders. Some more than others.

The hummingbird that has dominated our feeder 鈥� Hannibal Nectar 鈥� is one rotund, spider-filled little ball of irascibility. He has really packed on the grams. Fry up three of him and perch them on a bed of rice, and you鈥檝e got yourself an entree.

But then there鈥檚 Noodle. She squeaks in on the feeder any time she senses Hannibal isn鈥檛 looking. She has the girth of a pencil. She couldn鈥檛 challenge Hannibal if she had brass knucklets, 10 friends, and started last week. I鈥檓 accustomed to the proper size of an Anna鈥檚 hummingbird, and there鈥檚 quite a range, but I鈥檓 frankly worried about both of these. Soon Hannibal won鈥檛 be able to lift off without dropping like a plumb bob, and Noodle could disappear in a shag carpet.

Besides that, they act different. Noodle always picks the port closest to the house so she can look out for Hannibal. She looks right, left, up, down, and only then lowers in the hose and hoovers out everything she can. Hannibal comes way more often and drinks less at a time, because he knows he鈥檚 the boss. He picks any port he wants and kicks back as if he鈥檚 in a recliner. But he鈥檚 also the only hummingbird I鈥檝e seen that makes a regular habit of checking out the nectar feeder from underneath. I know what he鈥檚 doing: There might be ants. Basically, he鈥檚 scouting for Cheetos in the seat cushions.

Poor Noodle. She鈥檒l be raiding spiderwebs for material for her nest one of these days, and I hope she鈥檚 real cozy in there, because that鈥檚 one place Hannibal will not be invited. I鈥檇 love to bring her a housewarming gift.聽

Maybe a nice spider pot pie.