Heather and the Honey Birds

It began with a simple invitation to Sunday dinner with Grandma and Grandpa. It was mid September, the leaves were still on the trees, but the harsh heat of summer had been replaced with a comforting warmth.

Of his two granddaughters, Heather was the eldest, a bright and precocious three year old. She wasn't content to watch her Mom and Grandma fix dinner, she wanted to go in the backyard.

"I want to jump on the trampoline," she informed her Grandpa, bouncing around in anticipation.

"OK," Grandpa told her. "I'll help you get on it." The old man walked with the little girl out into the backyard, and he lifted her up onto the trampoline. The light filtering through the clouds gave a golden patina to the scene, a misty lemon rain. He thought to himself what an unusual thing it was.

"Is this a buttermilk sky?" he asked himself. "It looks more like lemonade." Whether named by meteorologists or poets, he didn't recall ever having seen such a light before. He was filled with a suggestion that something important was going to be revealed to him and he should have all sensors on and the recorder running.

He glanced skyward. "All right, You have my attention," he thought. "What am I supposed to see?"

Heather bounced and jumped on the trampoline. Grandpa wondered if she had any idea of the tricks that can be done on such a device, and whether she would one day learn to do some of them. Suddenly Heather stopped jumping. "Did you fill up the honey jar, Grandpa?" she asked him.

The old man frowned, confused by her question. "What's a honey jar? I don't know what you mean."

"That!" she cried, pointing at the hummingbird feeder hanging in the tree. "For the honey birds." Grandpa was a little surprised that she knew what it was for.

"Yes, I filled it up yesterday," he told her. "But they are called hummingbirds." He pronounced the word carefully so she would know how to say it.

"No, no Grandpa! My Mom told me. They're called honey birds." She was absolutely certain about her facts on the matter. "And that's the thing you put the honey in."

"OK, if you insist." He delighted in her innocent inaccuracies, and made a mental note of this one. Having read that honey contains bacteria that could harm hummingbirds, Grandpa had filled the feeder with sugar water.

Without thinking about the consequences, he told her, "I put sugar and water and a little red food coloring in it. Honey might hurt the birds."

The words were spoken before he realized that to a child's mind a honey bird must surely live on honey, and he braced himself for an argument. To his surprise, Heather remained silent. "Well, at least I know what I'm talking about on that point," he thought to himself.

The week previous, he and his wife had been camping, and they had seen some hummingbird feeders made from empty soft drink cans hanging in the trees. They proceeded to fill them up, and had been treated to a great show by the birds that came.

That had inspired him to hang up the feeder that had been stored in the shed up to that point. "I'd give anything if a hummingbird would show up now so I could show it to Heather," he thought.

To his utter amazement, as if the script called for it to make its entrance at that point, a hummingbird flew into the backyard and began feeding on some flowers. A butterfly net of wonder descended upon him, and he stared at his backyard with eyes that had never truly seen it before. His wish had been granted, and it hadn't cost him anything. He kept staring at the bird, not sure whether it was real. "Did I wish that thing into being, or is this just a coincidence?" It was real enough, but he couldn't bring himself to believe in the coincidence.

"Don't ponder about it, fool. Grab the opportunity. Don't let this chance fly away."

"Look, Heather," he said quietly. He pointed to the tiny bird. "There's a hummingbird now."

He knew from long experience that wild creatures didn't see him if he held very still and made no noise. He had often wondered whether they didn't see him at all, or just didn't perceive him as a threat. Whatever the case, stillness and silence made him invisible.

Heather sensed from his hushed tone that she had to keep still. The two of them watched as the little feathered actor, resplendent in his emerald green velvet suit, flew from flower to flower. Heather covered her mouth and giggled softly when the hummingbird flew to the feeder and drank the sweet red nectar.

The bird then flew away, only to return in a few moments and feed again. The old man was grateful to see his offering accepted.

A second hummingbird appeared and began feeding, but the first one jealously flared out his tail feathers and chirped loudly, challenging the newcomer for the rights to the sweet treasure. There was enough for all the birds in the county, but still they fought. Grandpa suspected that such instinctive behavior was essential to the bird's survival.

It flew out into the yard, hovered for a few seconds, and then flew at the interloper, darting and chirping. The yard seemed filled with the flurry of tiny warriors, attacking and defending, chirping and whirling. The action took place so fast that Heather and her Grandpa couldn't follow it. Up into the tree they went, a cyclone of bright Christmas tree ornaments, out of sight.

Heather laughed and clapped her hands. "They're fighting!" she exclaimed, obviously delighted with the spectacle.

"They sure are." Grandpa agreed, laughing with her.

Suddenly one appeared out of nowhere, and it flew directly at Heather. It turned away at the last instant, making a sound like a large and angry bee.

Heather turned to her Grandpa with a startled look. "Did you see that?" she asked, still delighted. "It flew right at me, and then turned real, real fast, like that." She mimicked the bird's actions with her hands.

"I sure did," he replied, surprised that the incident hadn't scared her. He considered saying something about being scared, but decided not to create a problem when one did not already exist. "They're awfully fast, aren't they?" he said. She nodded her head in agreement.

"What's going on out here?" her Aunt Julie called from the back door.

"We're watching the honey birds fighting, Aunt Julie!" cried Heather excitedly.

"I didn't know they did that," Julie said to Grandpa, rather skeptically. "I've never seen them fight."

"Well, they sure do," Grandpa informed her. "You never saw such frantic action in your life, either."

Julie drew Grandpa aside. "So they're 'Honey Birds' now, huh?"

"That's right. I just got the word from a leading authority a few minutes ago. Honey Birds is what they are."

The three of them watched for several minutes as the birds returned to feed, and challenges were made and countered. The old man pondered the magical quality of the experience. He made note of the child calling them 'honey birds', the sudden and timely appearance of the first bird, and the curious yellow light that had illuminated the scene.

Later his imperfect memory would embellish the story with details that didn't actually occur, but which would help fix the golden moment. The major elements of the story would be true.

"Where do you suppose they go in the winter?" Julie asked.

"I think I read that they go to Mexico, or maybe even South America," Grandpa replied.

"That's a long way for such a tiny creature, don't you think?" Julie commented.

"Is that by Way-far-away land?" asked Heather.

"I think it's even past that, sweetheart," answered Grandpa, laughing.

"Hey Julie, do you know why humming birds hum?" teased Grandpa.

Julie paused for a moment and struggled to remember the old joke. "Because they don't know the words?" she offered hesitantly.

"That's right, you remembered." They laughed together.

"Dad, you've told that same old dumb joke a hundred times," Julie said to him.

"Yes, and you kids fell for it every time," he countered, smiling at her and Heather. "All I had to do was wait a few months between tellings."

"Dinner's ready," called Grandma. "Come and eat." The trio walked hand in hand toward the house. It had been a magical moment, and Grandpa was grateful for it.

"I'm going to tell Grandma and Mom and Dad about the honey birds," announced Heather.

"Give me a hug first," shouted Grandpa, and he picked her up by the waist and whirled her around.

"Look, Mommy! I'm a honey bird!" Heather squealed as he whirled her around. Her Mom and Grandma looked at the two of them in wonder.

 Return to The Greenhorn's other stories

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page

Copyright © 1998 by Greenhorn Publications