Hey, come back here!

Despite my specific request for a long, Indian Summer, Mother Nature is toying with the idea of changing the seasons on me. She's been vacillating about it for a few weeks now, dropping a cool morning here and there, before waffling right back to the customary 95-degree heat and 95% humidity of a late summer in central Florida.

She seems to be getting a bit more serious about it now. I awakened this morning to a crisp 55-degrees and only 80% humidity. The activity at the hummingbird feeder has slowed to virtually nil; my brave, wee friends have departed for their 20-hour, non-stop flight across the Gulf to Mexico. I miss them already. Late summer flowers are fading, and the sun is getting lazier about getting up in the mornings. The nurseries are all stocking orange and gold chrysanthemums (gack!). Fat acorns, ignored by squirrels who are more interested in the never-ending cornucopia of free sunflower seeds in my feeder, are pelting my car and falling unheeded to the ground. There may be a sad correlation between this and the wisdom and effectiveness of some of our social programs, but I digress.

Despite the protestations of this hater-of-all-things-cold, it is evident Summer is truckling happily away behind Mother Nature, without giving me so much as a backward glance. I suppose the only thing left to do is embrace Fall, if somewhat begrudgingly. In keeping with that vaguely positive attitude, I am enjoying the late-blooming purple ginger and will be attending the annual Fall plant sale and orchid show at Kanapaha Gardens this weekend.

Hey, just trying to do my part!

War is Hell...

... and the fact that the skirmishes take place in the back yard over sugar water make it no less a pitched battle.

Some 14' from my kitchen window stands an Asian pergola. From the end of the cross frame closest to the window is suspended a hummingbird feeder. Beneath the feeder is a row of mature azaleas taller than my head; above it, suspended from the pergola, is a thick covering of Japanese wisteria. Still higher up is an oak tree, the tippy-branches of which serve as lookout posts, offering 360-degree vantage points for hyper-vigilant Ruby-throated hummingbirds who defend the red plastic feeder with tireless vengeance.

The airborne skirmishes over the endless and ever-fresh supply of nectar are fierce; the fussing, threatening chirps, and dive-bombing constant. If I happen to have the audacity to sit in the chairs in the vicinity of the feeder, I, too, am cursed vehemently. While reading the other afternoon, a bossy little flying ace whizzed past my head, fussing as she flew, and dropped a tiny bomb directly on my book! If Baron von Richthofen had been half as determined, WWI might have had a whole different outcome!

This afternoon, standing at the kitchen window, I watched a battle won not with brawn, but brains. One of the smaller females was being bullied away from the feeder, chased relentlessly by a larger one. They circled each other mid-air, lunging and chirping, until the littler girl darted into the azaleas for cover and respite. Her pursuer hovered just outside the foliage, head cocking side-to-side, searching for her target. Unable to spot her prey, she flew upward to the oak branches to keep angry watch over the approaches to the feeder.

Moments passed and then, from the far end of the row of azaleas where the branches are thickest, emerged the little girl. Stealthily, cautiously, she skirted up the edge of the shrubs to the feeder, keeping under the cover of the wisteria as she flew. As Frau Dominatrix glared confidently about the yard, Little Girl sipped lunch peacefully undetected directly beneath her tormentor.

War is hell, but the victory does not always go to the most swift and strong. Sometimes you gotta run away so you can return to fight another day. And being sneaky doesn't hurt, either!