The pine tree we planted has grown tall. The cones tumble down, full of sap. Hummingbirds nest in the branches. The mama birds dive bomb when I walk by. They want to attack me, divert me and protect their young.
Down the hill, dozens of hummingbirds live in a scrub oak. The males are brightly colored and iridescent. Their feathers glisten in the sun. The female hummingbirds are less colorful.
I feel guilty that I don’t know their names. City dwellers traipse out to Descanso Gardens to “go birding.” They carry binoculars, cameras and iPhones to record their findings. Lots of effort, while I live uneducated, in the middle of nature, surrounded by wildlife. Hundreds of birds. I don’t know their names.
One birder asked permission to set up a video camera at our house. We agreed. Year after year, he filmed the hawks, monitored the same nests, and recorded the young as they hatched and learned to fly. It was very educational. One year, the hawks swooped down to attack the meat on our barbecue. That’s when we decide to keep the Cat inside the house. The Cat probably knows the names of the birds. He watches them from the windows.