The Other Way

Have you ever noticed that we don’t always see what’s really in front of us?  Somehow, we all seem to have those moments where the really obvious isn’t that obvious after all.

We lived for about six years on a farm.  There were a lot of things we enjoyed about this (the quiet, the privacy, the cats could wander without leaving the property…) but we particularly enjoyed the birds.  Hummingbirds, specifically.

We moved in December, and so when I heard a buzzing sound outside the front window in the spring, I had no idea what to expect.  There, suspended outside our large window, was a tiny hummingbird.  His demeanor was relatively friendly except for a very clear message:  “You know, it’s been a long trip here … a little sustenance would be nice!”.  I quickly purchased a simple feeder, got the recipe for hummingbird syrup, and had that feeder out as soon as the syrup cooled enough to avoid burning tiny hummingbird tongues (do they have tongues)?  The feeder at the edge of our porch was popular with our new hummingbird and his crowd, so we purchased a second one and placed it about twenty-five feet away in front of a window.   

As we try not to be full time cat slaves, we left a door open for easy access during the day.  This was the door close to the window where we placed the second feeder.  Apparently, that wasn’t a great idea.

One sunny weekend, I was about to walk out the door when I heard the buzzing sound again, and a tapping one.  It sounded close, and I hoped it wasn’t a wasp.  It wasn’t a wasp.  It was a hummingbird, trying to drill his way through the window to the feeder immediately outside it.  Clearly, it looked like this was a possible means of egress.  After all, the feeder was right there, he could see it, and there didn’t seem to be anything in the way.  Seem is the important word here.  I went to see if I could find some newspaper.

(NO, I wasn’t going to swat the hummingbird.  Who does that?)

My idea was that I’d get the newspaper in between the hummingbird and the window so he’d understand that he couldn’t get out that way, and to hopefully direct him to the open door just six feet away.  But the first thing I found was a flyswatter.  I felt some urgency in the matter as I didn’t want a dead or injured hummingbird on my conscience, so I grabbed it.  My brain was still stuck on the “block-and-guide” method I’d originally devised, but it seems the hummingbird had his own plan of action once I showed up to help.

I extended the flimsy flyswatter between the hummingbird and his window.  He saw it.  But instead of changing direction, he sat on the end of the flyswatter.  It didn’t even bend.  I carried the hummingbird on his flyswatter conveyance to the porch, where he quickly understood his freedom, and made off to the feeder.  Later that day, we moved the feeder a couple of feet so it wasn’t right in front of the window.

This is one of my favourite stories.  Partly because I get to brag about rescuing a hummingbird who trusted me.  I think that’s pretty amazing.  But I also love it because there are so many lessons in a simple incident that lasted less than five minutes.

The hummingbird learned that just because a way looks clear and simple, it isn’t necessarily so.  Sometimes, it’s better to take a longer journey less filled with invisible obstacles.  While the newspaper and my initial diversion plan seemed effective, it might have worked less well than the flyswatter.  Perhaps the tip of a newspaper wouldn’t hold the miniscule weight of a hummingbird.  Might I have injured him in trying to gently direct him?  It all worked out as it should.  My lesson was to be open to solutions – just because I think something is best, like the hummingbird, doesn’t always make it so. 

Have a wonderful day finding the other way - circumventing your obstacles and finding your solutions!  And if you want to read up more on hummingbirds, I found this site:  Hummingbirds.