Mama Hummingbird Landing
A poem of gratitude for the gift of a tiny nest outside my front door
To the mama hummingbird hugging her nest tight under the waxing gibbous moon.
I promise not to get too close, but I will bring the children by in the morning.
We’ll tell them to whisper, to tiptoe, to wonder in awe at your spiderweb home.
They’ll understand that you are watching from your trumpet vine perch.
Their parents entrust them to others, too.
Artemis says, Excuse me. And then she says, Thank you. Her small hand on my sleeve.
They take clippings of our front door rose geranium for the fairies.
They take lemons and oranges and wonder at the bees.
The eggs have not hatched yet, but we’ll duck down as we pass by. We’ll take care for you.
This is the third hummingbird nest that we’ve found on our property over the past few years. I did not realize how special it is to find one, let alone capture the photos of her landing as I did. (Don’t worry — I was far away with the long lens!) When I shared these photos on Facebook, my friends were just as enthralled as I was — and a few fellow nature lovers confirmed that this is a Rufous hummingbird. I read on Audubon that they are very protective, to the point of being described as “pugnacious:”
The male Rufous, glowing like new copper penny, often defends a patch of flowers in a mountain meadow, vigorously chasing away all intruders (including larger birds).
I invited the preschoolers, who spend their days in the house next door, to come to see the nest. I knew the mama wouldn’t be there if we came by, but I thought the children would enjoy a visit, even to an empty nest. Because of COVID, they’re spending most of their days outside; the headteacher is working hard to keep them engaged and occupied.
We had the loveliest visit. They climbed up on a chair to get closer — but not too close. They asked me the names of my daughter’s best friends. We all celebrated the fact that our sweaters have pockets. They picked lemons and oranges from our tree, learning how to twist off the fruit rather than pull. I thanked them for sharing their calming nap time music every day, which we hear through the fence. They promised to come back to learn about composting.
When the little girl tapped my arm and said, “Thank you,” she meant it — deeply. I mean, oh my heart.
Audubon also shares the following about the Rufous hummingbird:
Because it relies on finding the right conditions in so many different habitats at just the right seasons during the year, it could be especially vulnerable to the effects of climate change.
I started thinking about how we care for our small beings, our birds, and our human children — how we care for these many nests that make up our world, for them. We have an obligation to take care, to model gentleness even as we are protective and even pugnacious at times. And to thank them for being in it — to thank them, in return, for teaching us how to be.
Here’s another poem I wrote for me, and for you. ❤
E. Katherine Kottaras holds an M.A. in English and an M.S. in Kinesiology with a focus on Integrative Wellness, and she is a writer and teacher, having worked at the middle, high school, and community college levels for over two decades. She is a registered yoga teacher, personal trainer, and health coach while also living with invisible illnesses and neurodivergence, and she is passionate about mindfulness, bodily self-determination, and health equity. As the queer daughter of an immigrant, Katherine believes that holistic and inclusive approaches to healing and growth should be accessible to all.
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