I love this photo; not because it's technically excellent art (it has many flaws, and was taken on a smartphone), but because it holds a story that is dear to my heart. A bit of background: I have been obsessed with birds since I was about seven years old. I loved to read about them, watch them, feed them, and draw them, but especially to touch them. The first time I touched a wild bird was when I was 8 years old. My grandmother had a friend who loved to feed hummingbirds, and her feeders were bombarded by migrating Calliope Hummingbirds in the summer. She had spent much time acclimating the birds to humans, to the point where you could put your hands over the perches on the feeders and (if you were patient and still) the hummers would land on your fingers. I sat on a bar stool on that sunny deck and sat mesmerized as hummingbirds swarmed and glittered around me. It was an experience that ignited my longing to touch and hold birds. Ever since that day, I have chased the exhilaration and awe that comes from having a bird in the hand. I've fed gray jays at campgrounds suet (and table scraps) from my lap. I've spent summer afternoons seeing how close I can get to the bird feeder without scaring the sparrows away. I've sat in my yard offering the Steller's Jays peanuts from my hand (and only succeeded in being scolded at). I've bought a parakeet, who loves to sit on me as much as I love to hold him. I've rescued little almost-fledgling birds by returning them to their nests. I've also tried my luck with hummingbirds again, sitting outside in (what felt like) freezing temperatures holding a feeder of cold nectar to entice our resident Anna's hummingbird. He'll come and hover to eat, but he won't sit down on my fingers yet. I'll keep working with him :D Recently I found one of my old assignments from second grade in which I was tasked with describing myself. I had written, "I like to hold birds, and want to become and ornithologist (a scientist who studies birds)". What's funny is that at the time I wrote this, I had never actually held a bird. I'd had birds perch on me, but I'd never held one. I'd never felt a bird's feathers, its heartbeat, its strength. The problem is that a bird can perch on you happily, but no bird wants to be grasped and restrained by a human hand. The one instance in which causing a bird such stress seems justified is bird banding; capturing and holding birds for the purpose of research which will ultimately help them. For years I've dreamed of becoming a volunteer bird bander, which would give me the opportunity to hold birds "for a good cause" XD, but I've never found the time to do it. So really holding a wild bird remained a foggy possibility in some distant time. Ok, I know, I know. Now onto the actual story. This year (as a graduation present from my grandma), I was given the opportunity to go to Belize in Central America with my science teacher on a biology-focused trip. We stayed at a field station in the middle of the rain forest. The first night was a bumpy ride. We knew the accommodations wouldn't be luxurious, but we discovered we all might have overestimated the quality of our lodgings. That night we had a lecture from our ranger/guide about the bounty of spiders and poisonous snakes in the area and how vigilant we would need to be to protect ourselves. Boots, long pants, and long sleeves would be required at all times. To top it all off, he told us we would have to regularly inspect our rooms for scorpions. I went to bed that night wondering if I had made a terrible mistake to come to this muggy, scorpion-snake-and-spider-infested, oven-like, air-conditioning-forsaken hut in the middle of the prehistoric jungle. In the morning, I woke up at 5:00, bitterly put on my already sticky khaki pants, ventilation-less rubber boots, and a greasy coating of DEET, and tiredly walked down to breakfast. The moment I saw the veranda, I knew all these challenges would be worth it. Three hummingbird feeders hung from the thatched roof of the outdoor deck, and hummingbirds were SWARMING around them. There were White-bellied Emeralds, Wedge-tailed Sabrewings, Rufous-tailed Hummingbirds, White-necked Jacobins, and more. It took my breath away. I could barely tear myself away to go birding. I was immediately reminded of my experience with the Calliope hummingbirds. These hummers flashed by our heads without concern, and were obviously acclimated to people. Could my earlier adventure be repeated? I asked our guide if I could take a feeder down during lunch and place it beside me. With a unequivocal tone, he said, "They will not come. They will not come". He said it wouldn't work . . . but he didn't say I couldn't try! During my free time, I sat on a bar stool (once again) and set the hummingbird feeder on the armrest with my hands covering the outermost perches. I don't know how long I waited. Maybe 30 minutes, maybe 45, maybe an hour. But . . . they did come! The White-bellied Emeralds were the bravest. The hovered at first, soon they outstretched their tiny claws, and eventually they sat comfortably on my fingers while they lapped up their nectar. I sat totally still in that stool for at least an hour, and every moment was miraculous. I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. I spent every afternoon at that field station feeding those hummers from my hand. The initial waiting period was never required again. Even better, other people could take my place, and the birds would sit on their fingers without hesitation as well. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, it did! The dining room was attached to the deck, and its windows were just screens to let the breeze in but keep the bugs out. One of its doorways had no door, and was simply always open. One morning, I saw something buzzing and vibrating underneath the short curtains. Expecting to find a huge, disgusting bug, I lifted the curtain with dread. I found not a bug, but a hummingbird! He had flown in the open doorway and was now set on escaping through the see-through but impenetrable screen. He was buzzing frantically, his beak stuck through the netting. I scooped him up as best I could and managed to hold on to his struggling body just long enough to bring him outside. It was a fantastic but fleeting moment. Throughout that day, two more hummingbirds became trapped inside. As I said, I have no experience banding birds, but I have done a little bit of research on how to safely hold captured songbirds. I have no idea how a hummingbird is supposed to be held, but I felt confident I could safely hold a hummer in the songbird grip I knew: holding the head between the index and third finger and using the other three fingers to hold the wings against the body. I was again unable to get a good grip on the next hummingbird I rescued, but "third time's the charm" proved to be true. On the third rescue (this time a White-bellied Emerald), I was able to hold the hummer's wings against his sides to immobilize him securely but safely. I brought him out to the deck to show my friends, and allow them to get an up-close look at the little living jewel. I only held him long enough for my teacher to snap this picture, and then released him. It was truly the culmination and fulfillment of a life-long dream. I held a hummingbird. I felt his scintillating feathers, his racing heartbeat, his unbelievable strength. I marveled at his illogical smallness, and surveyed his seemingly impossible existence. I held a hummingbird! All I can do is thank God that he gave me this incredible gift. It's all His: His creature, His design, His creation that He looks after so dearly. Thank you God for allowing me to touch one of your masterpieces! I haven't really spoken about my faith on the here yet. Maybe I'll write a longer post on the subject sometime. All I can say is this: the closer I look at the world, at nature especially, the more I believe that it has been wonderfully, carefully, and lovingly designed. Wow, if you read this entire treatise, I applaud you.
