September 2009 Archives

No, not the 4-wheeled kind, the winged, 1/10^th ounce, southbound kind.

Fall migration of the Ruby-throated Hummingbirds is in full swing.  It began back in late July, but peaks here at Almosta Farm in mid-September.  But those of you who enjoy feeding them are already well aware of this.  Just check how many pounds of sugar you've purchased this month!  Remember, one part sugar to four parts water and avoid the expensive "nectar" mixes and food coloring.

Although hummers don't migrate in flocks, there is a well defined, southward movement and, at this time of year, there is a constant turnover of hummers in our yard.  We enjoy watching each wave of migrants arrive, so sleek and slim.  Then in short order they become so plump that they can hardly fly.  In fact last year, one male overdid and, when he tried to takeoff from a low-hanging feeder, crashed on the ground and could not get airborne from that low spot in the grass.  Concerned about fire ants, we gave him a lift up to a nearby limb and with the increased height; this winged butterball was able to resume flight operations.

Retrieving an empty feeder is always a bit of an adventure and can be a little scary, especially late in the day when close encounters of the hummer kind are the rule, not the exception.    You find yourself ducking those chattering, squeaky little dive bombers as they pass mere inches from your face!  Then you hear one hovering . . . right beside your ear, peeking over your shoulder to see what you're doing with their feeder.  For the short period of time that the full rack of feeders isn't hanging out, the hummers swarm around the remaining few like bees.  That's when we often see two hummers feeding from each feeder flower!

Early morning and late afternoon are the best times to take a chair and a cup of coffee and have a seat among the feeders.  Hummers are such trusting souls.  We've often been used as a perch.  And when that happens, you learn the real meaning of light as a feather. 

In addition to the hummers, this year Judy has made friends with a cute little bumblebee who is always on the feeders and is very reluctant to get off for feeder refilling.  He's even followed her half way to the house trying to get back on the feeder.

Soon the number of birds will begin to decline and by the end of October, our last hummer will depart for Mexico.  He'll return in mid-March.

But wait!  An increasing number of Ruby-throated Hummingbirds are overwintering in the southeast!  And researchers from the Hummer/Bird Study Group reported banding small numbers of seven species of western hummingbird here in the southeast last winter!  So, keep at least one full, clean feeder in your yard all winter.  And if you receive a visit from one of these wanderers, contact the Hummer/Bird Study Group to arrange for one of their researchers to come and you're your bird.

By Jon Braun

There's a story or stories of a man that are becoming less of a legend outside of Washington County.   I was fortunate enough to have personally known this legend when I was younger because my father and he were very close friends, but he was widely known throughout the south.  His story is more like many stories, some told by him, and others by the people that were around him.  I'll try my best to tell a few of these stories without rambling like the town drunk, so bear with me.

I knew Mr. Roy as old man in his late eighties and early nineties, but he helped raise my father.  Mr. Roy, as everyone knew him, was born in Ellisville, MS in 1903.  One of his favorite stories to tell was how he put out a major fire at the Hercules Powder factory in Hattiesburg, MS.  According to Mr. Roy had the fire spread any further it would have blown up the entire south.  Another famous story was his first job where he was working as a painter.  Somehow he got the job to paint the hangars for the Tuskegee Airmen.  As he was painting one of the roofs, he spilled the paint and ran from side to side mopping the paint until he had painted the entire roof without spilling a drop.  He took more pride in the fact that he hadn't spilled a drop rather than he had painted a part of Alabama's history.  He also took pride in the fact that, even in his old age, could lift a nine pound sledge hammer from his foot and hold it out from his shoulder parallel to the ground.  This is a feat that I have never been able to master, and I've never seen anyone else do it.

Mr. Roy settled down in Frankville, Al around the late 1940's and took on the profession as a gunsmith.  Mr. Roy enjoyed hunting and fishing.  He also had a great sense of humor.  One day there was a stir in church when Mr. Roy walked through the door with a hat on.  The laughter broke out when everyone noticed the writing on his hat that read "I'd rather be fishing".  While working as a gunsmith, he had become an excellent marksman.  His profession had also damaged his hearing to the point of having to wear a hearing aide.  When he would come to visit he would usually spend the day with my dad, therefore his wife would always call to check in on him.  This bothered Mr. Roy because he felt like he was being treated like a child.  One day after Sunday lunch, Mr. Roy had a call from his wife.  After the phone call he took his seat in our den and continued talking with my father.  We heard this strange beeping noise coming from our kitchen.  My mother noticed that when Mr. Roy had answered his wife's call, he had taken out his hearing aide.  When asked about taking it out he replied, "I listen to it at home, I shouldn't have to listen to it here".  He also said if he ever wanted to get rid of his wife, he would, "push her off in a boat, with the paddle  because she was the worst paddler he'd ever seen".

Making a living as a gunsmith in the late 1900's was remarkable, but it was what he enjoyed and what he knew.  He hand made the rifle my father hunted with while he was growing up.  It is also the same rifle that I hunted with while I was growing up.  My father passed the rifle down to me and was asking Mr. Roy's advice on what he should buy for my two brothers.  Mr. Roy told my father to let him do a little research on the matter.  Within weeks, this man in his late eighties had molded the barrels, hand carved the stocks, and purchased two scopes to complete two more rifles for my brothers.  When asked why he had done this, he told my father that, "there was no need to pay for something that wouldn't shoot true".  People from all over the south would have him site their guns before hunting season opened.  It was an art he had perfected.  According to him, a gun wasn't sited properly until he could pull the trigger three times and make one hole in the target.  When he shot a deer, he would shoot the deer in the eye or when he would shoot a turkey he would use a rifle and shoot them in the neck, as if he had to prove his shooting abilities.  There's one story that comes to mind about one of our annual hunting trips that he was a part of.  Ten men had gone turkey hunting and nine came back empty handed.  When Mr. Roy returned, he had two giant gobblers on the back of his 1942 army truck.  Everyone gathered around and asked what his secret was.  Mr. Roy calmly replied, "you just have to know what you're doing".  That was also about the time that my father noticed the corn that had spilled from the turkey's beak as well as the two empty corn buckets on the back of his truck.  Anyone that hunts knows that it's highly illegal to hunt over feed, but no one ever told him that we knew his secret.