An Empty Nest

I have been watching the building of a home and family for the past 27 days, since the Sunday I was gardening and noticed a female hummingbird showing special interest in a certain spot in a tree. I have watched her build her nest, piece by piece. Her nest grew surprisingly quickly, given that she could only carry a small bit of moss, a spot of lichen, or one fluffy bit of plant down at a time. I have been able to take pictures all along the way, including the day she laid her first egg, and two days later, the second. I visited her first thing every morning, to check the progress of her incubation, and it was the first thing I did when I got home from work each day. We spent a lot of time sitting quietly together, her sitting patiently on the nest and surveying her surroundings, while I tried to wait patiently for her to leave the nest for a moment, so I could set up or retrieve my camera without disturbing her. In the past few busy weeks, those were quite literally the only times I have been able to sit, quiet and still.

I was hoping that this weekend would be when the eggs would hatch, and I was prepared to shun all activities and people, in an attempt to film them hatching. I had gotten several good videos of her sitting on the nest, and I felt prepared. What I was not prepared for this morning was finding an empty nest…

When I checked the nest yesterday morning, the two eggs were there, and mama hummer was in residence, as usual, so I headed to work. The weather predictions were for a stormy, windy day, and as I sat at my desk, I watched the weather build. From my office, I can see Puget Sound, from Des Moines southward to Poverty Bay, where I live. I have a clear view of the squalls as they come through the Tacoma Narrows, and across the South Sound toward Des Moines. I could see the whitecaps on the water, and as the day progressed, the water got darker, the wind rattled my windows, and the power flickered off and on. I thought about my hummingbird friend throughout the day as I listened to the wind, and prayed that her tiny feet were strong enough to anchor her family in place. My day was long, and it was late and dark when I arrived home. I have been keeping the porch light off, to keep the natural light cycle in the vicinity of the nest, and I did not want to spook her by turning the light on, so I skipped checking on the nest and went to bed.

This morning, I got up early, with high hopes for a dry day and good news. Before changing from my nightgown, I ran upstairs for a quick peek. Mama hummer was not on her nest, so I quickly climbed the ladder to check. When I looked in and saw that the eggs were gone, I was heartbroken. I got dressed, and went outside to investigate. I crawled the ground beneath the tree on hands and knees, inspecting every inch. Each white petal and small pebble stopped my heart, but there was no sign of the eggs. There was no sign of foul play, no indication that the eggs had hatched and the tiny birds had fallen prey to an opportunist. The nest was undisturbed, and the twisty maze of the corkscrew filbert branches that protected the nest was intact. I was immediately suspicious of a crow that flew low over the tree while I was on the ladder, and has been gathering twigs for its own nest from nearby trees over the last week, but I don’t think a large bird could have gotten to the nest without breaking the branches that surrounded it. For the last sixteen days, the mother hummingbird had not left the nest for more than two and a half minutes at a time, but during the forty minutes that I searched, she never returned.

My husband and son came home from an errand, and I tearfully shared the news, and my belief that the wind had knocked the eggs from the nest. My husband is one who makes me turn the channel whenever a nature program shows a predator being a predator…he can’t take it when the music is cued to engage sympathy, and the narrator speaks of the prey as if giving a eulogy. So he is sure that some evil befell the eggs, and that it could not possibly have been the wind. When I walked around the yard, I saw blooms on the ground, like debris after a riot, and branches everywhere, snapped and heaved down by the storm. How could two tiny eggs, weighing only ounces, have survived in a shallow nest, no matter how tenacious the mother was?

I hope that wherever the eggs landed, it was on a bed of soft moss, surrounded by protective branches, and signs of new life. That the mama hummer sat with them, guarding them, until she was sure she was no longer needed. That she is out looking for a another mate, so that her beautiful nest does not go to waste. I also hope that I am not being punished for the comment I made a couple of nights ago, where I spoke out loud that I knew I was being selfish to plan my life around the hatching of two eggs, and was choosing that over a person.

Nature can be harsh, and the more joy you take in it, the harder it can be to take that harshness. I am trying not to mourn, but it is not easy. I will focus on spending the rest of the weekend looking for new miracles of nature to bring me joy, and in this season of reawakening, there are unfolding miracles everywhere. You just have to look. And watch. And be patient.