An exhausting performance for the lady of his choice.

The feeding station has been in place almost a year now. Regulars are the typical visitors to backyard feeders: chickadees, dark-eyed juncos, California towhees, titmouse, and occasionally, wrens. The hummingbird feeder is dominated by Sparky, a fierce but somewhat friendly fellow. On the periphery are woodpeckers, crows, blue jays, robins, cedar waxwings (at berry time), sparrows and a couple of lovely but as yet unidentified visitors. They don’t partake from the feeder.

Back in the spring, there were lively young chickadees that took a keen interest whenever I watered the raised vegetable beds. I assumed they were juveniles from their lack of grace when landing on branches. They took to hanging out in either the plum tree or the pyracantha bush next to it. One day I aimed the hose spray upward.

They went crazy. Such a racket, and before I knew it, there were ten or so, all calling happily to each other, shaking out their wings, holding their heads upward. Clearly this was a great treat. After a few days, a wren or two would show up, and sometimes, a hummingbird. At this point, there was no hummingbird feeder, but they visited the fuchsia plants and Mexican sage regularly.

I wanted a video of this so that family members wouldn’t think I had gone off the deep end. But before I knew it, the young chickadees were gone. Vanished. On to greener territories perhaps. The whole summer went by without a single one noticing when I watered. If I pointed the spray at the remaining chickadees, they flew away.

Today, I went out to check on the green beans and the last tomato plants that are still producing. More on those another time. Was that a happy chickadee sound? Yes, and several were answering. There was the buzz of a giant bee, which I suspected was Sparky. I sprayed up into the pyracantha, which needs pruning very badly. One by one, they flew into the bush, which is more like a tree. Even the juncos were there, but more subdued than the rest, who had their wings out, heads up, shaking their feathers. Giant bee buzz again. There he was, in the middle, little wings out and chirping away, bobbing up and down, my resident hummer.

Will they do this for at least another week? Temps are warm, in the 70s. I must figure out the movie function on the camera. I’m thinking this is at least a 2-man project.

I set my clock just before bedtime last night, so I was pretty sure it was too early to get up. But the sound of traffic was not what it should have been well before 6:00 a.m. Loud. Insistent. Monday morning, and the commute is on. But, wait a minute. Or hour.

How many of you showed up way too early? Especially since fall is the one time we get an extra hour of sleep.

According to the Beeb, Nephila Komaci has a leg span of almost five inches.

Which makes my biggest garden/garage spider puny in comparison. I really don’t think I’ll be getting a ruler and stretching out its legs. For which we’re both grateful.

Yes, yes, I’m releasing it today. Not only does it seem to have an imploring gaze when I look at the photos, but yesterday found me searching the garden in vain for some live insect food to sustain it.

I really didn’t plan on reading the comments following the story at Palo Alto Online, but it is hard to stop. Parents, neighbors, current and former students are discussing train speeds, school pressure, parental pressure, inability to get into AP classes, the need for a night patrol at the crossing in question, a chain link fence around the crossing, depression, and the overwhelming need for someone to talk to.

For some ultramarathoners, surgical removal of their toenails solves a painful problem. Nor will they ever encounter that pesky fungal ailment.

This afternoon seemed a good time to get rid of all the redwood tree debris from the storm last week. After the yard waste toter filled up, I was deciding which other garbage can to use when the sprinkle turned to rain. My side yard is shaded by the neighbor’s oak trees, so there was some protection. It began coming down in earnest, but nothing serious. I had just potted up some Japanese anemones and two hydrangeas too, so the rain is very welcome.

Obviously the South Bay did not get the deluge that occurred elsewhere.

For a few seconds, I inverted the cup. This is one fast spider that I did not want loose in the house. Did I mention that it’s really, really big?

For some reason, when there’s a good one elsewhere (usually not nearby), my teeth hurt. Fillings? Probably. Right now, something’s happening somewhere.

The lone ruby-throated hummingbird has been by more than a dozen times this morning, happy that I finally refreshed its nectar supply. Yesterday during the terrible storm, it refueled much more than usual.

Because we accidentally/on purpose manage to meet up at various places in the yard, I decided to give him a name. His bright magenta gorget is dazzling when the light is just right so that he sparkles. I’d like you to meet Sparky:

although you have probably seen him in earlier posts.

Sometime this morning, when I was deep in work, Sparky spotted a lady friend. When I say he’s the lone hummer, I merely mean he’s the only one that dines at the feeder. So far he has chased away everything else.

Thus began the curious courting behavior of head bobbing. The female sat quietly, but Sparky went beserk. Finally I got the camera and, sans tripod, tried to get a shot or two. He never stopped moving, and was all puffed up as well. Of course my hands weren’t steady, but then neither was he.

Next time I’ll just take movies.

Coinciding with school being let out, not a good sign. Sounds like multiple emergency vehicles up at the intersection, blaring their horns.

The back patio is still underwater, big puddles elsewhere in the yard. Big chunks of palm tree came down but no fencing, thank goodness. I put garbage cans under the roof runoff areas. No sign of a letup in rain, but gusts have diminished as earlier. Well, wait a minute. Take that back.

On Friday, I didn’t find much at the estate sale. The only things that caught my eye were the flags in pristine shape. When I held one up, someone behind me said they thought it was either the Australia or New Zealand flag. I put them back. Useful for props, but not at those prices.

Meanwhile, a family member became enamored of an ancient vise in the garage. He planned to return later with his tools to remove it.

Today was 50% off everything. Removing the vise took a lot longer than planned, so I looked around again. The flags were still there. An elderly gentleman was checking out all the smalls on the table next to me. When I asked a seller the price, he said $5 for each. That seemed very reasonable for very large fabric flags. The seller said one flag had to be New Zealand, what with the British flag in one corner and the stars. The old fellow spoke up, and said it was the Hawaii flag.

I admitted I didn’t know what the Hawaii flag looked like. In my mind I pictured something like the Hong Kong flag, a flower motif. I didn’t understand why it would feature the Union Jack. The gentleman looked around, found a packet of maps, and said, ‘Here’s a map of Hawaii, maybe there’s a flag on it.’

It wasn’t really that important, but he went to a lot of trouble spreading the map out. In his ongoing conversation with the seller, he said he knew the man who owned the house, and that he was 93 years old to the owner’s 95.

I paid for the flags, and went out to the car to wait. When the family member returned, he said none of the sellers bothered to help him, but finally a really old fellow came over and gave him assistance.

The flag in question turned out to be Australian. But thanks to a 93-year old, I now know that Britain once had political authority over Hawaii. I will probably think of him every time I pick up that flag.

Octomom, via SFGate’s Mommy files. Gimme money!

It comes in blocks, a teal-ish color. On the cover of the box, a little mouse is taking little bites on a corner of a block. Last evening I put out three - one by the compost container, one by the raised bed where I have put all the cactuses my older son keeps bringing back) and another by the apricot tree.

This morning when I went to check, two of the blocks were gone. Not chewed or nibbled at, just completely disappeared.

Raccoons maybe? A swarm of mice or rats like the ones in Ratatouille or Despereaux?

To be continued.

So I got on the phone, taking care of some business which is a long series of automated questions, at the end of which a human would come on the line and save me a trip to some office downtown where I don’t particularly want to go today. I glance out the window into the remains of the vegetable garden.

Where a woodpecker, probably the one I’ve been stalking in the front oak tree, is flitting around. Chasing it is the male, bright red head gleaming in the noon sun. I’ve never seen him before. They cling to a couple of posts, one of which holds a small wood birdhouse. Then they make their way up the posts, stopping at the birdhouse. Some sort of courting behavior is going on, lots of flying back and forth, then they land on the pyracantha bush.

Throughout all of this highly photogenic action, I am glued to the phone, unable to take one shot.

Maybe this happens more often, it’s just that my desk faces the other way. However, when I do get around to taking any pictures, there are two very large spiders resting in their jars.

It’s 46° at 7:45 a.m. Brrrrrr. Absolutely wonderful. Might have to turn the heat on early this year. Yesterday I went for an impromptu walk with an old friend in the bracing wind. It took some time to warm up since I was somewhat underdressed. Few fallen leaves, but in that neighborhood some of the ginkgo trees are female, and there were nuts underfoot.

Was that a sparrow I just saw and banished from the feeder? The kind that forced me to remove the bird food for many weeks? I’ll know by the end of the day, when and if it brings back 153 of its friends. Fingers crossed.

In a new book, Return to the Hundred Acre Wood, by David Benedictus and Mark Burgess (illustrator), an otter joins the group. Nothing like a character of the female gender to shake things up a bit.

The other night I spotted it over by the window while I was fixing supper. A family member immediately went into some kind of loop: How did that get in the house? How did that get in the house? How did that get in the house?

Somehow, the subject was cornered. This morning I released it on a piece of paper, but it was bent on a fast escape. The home jar was too distorted for a decent photo, so I used a plastic cup instead. It spent the entire session trying to leave the premises. Unlike the previous spider, it did not spin obscuring webs. Very soon now, it will be finding a new home out in the garden.

When the boys were young, there was the occasional LAN party, usually on someone’s birthday. Food was not particularly important, and the present-opening tended to be anti-climatic, with everyone anxious to get back to whatever they were doing. The pizza and cake disappeared as the night went on, and the guys didn’t leave till morning, taking all their monitors and games with them.

Compared to the birthday parties of their younger days, it was easy. And thank goodness, no one had to resort to this at our house.

In which the poor beast is compared to Tom Cruise.

As most of my readers know, I have little patience for the suburban pests that seem to multiply in my yard. By now, you also know about the bird feeding table here right in front of the window where I work. On a normal day, the dark-eyed juncos appear around the time I’m having my oatmeal, 7:30ish, then the chickadees show up. Some days they fight with the juncos. Some days the juncos fight with each other. The occasional titmouse comes by with its mate. Ditto the towhee. There’s a wren or two, and over to the left is the hummingbird feeder. When I’m staring at the laptop screen, which is 99% of the time, any odd movement (such as a squirrel jumping on the table) registers immediately.

At lunchtime, there was a really strange shaking of the nandina bush next to the table. When I peered around the screen, there was a little mouse laboriously making its way up the branches. It looked like a small stuffed animal.

The roof rats, for which this area is famous, tend to come out just before dark, which is why I bring in the bird food around 8:00 p.m., even earlier now that the light is changing. From time to time we can see them scurrying along the tops of the fences. Nasty-looking, ratty things. Sometimes they leap up on the table right after sunset, completely creeping me out. But this doesn’t happen very often.

Now this tiny thing was struggling to get up the bush. It looked a little like a field mouse, but cuddlier. Could it have been someone’s pet, used to a human mealtime ? When I got outside, it took a good look at me before scrambling down the branches and away.

I should have gotten a photo.

Gmail can’t access my contacts. iStock has 60 staff members working on their problems, and their site is up and down. And the market is tumbling due to weak housing data. The squirrels sent an email saying they’ve eaten all the baby zucchinis off the plants, what else is on the menu. I expect a message from the ants pointing out the difficulties of ingesting the Terro granules, and could I please put out the liquid form instead.

This time of year it’s hard to check the garden without walking into spider webs. In the 95° temps this afternoon, I found this creature. A hot breeze came up, so I didn’t get the shot I wanted. I suspect it will still be there tomorrow.

A family member saw the feathers coming down from the oak tree. By the time I set up the tripod, the hawk was mostly finished, and sailed off across the rooftops. Although there are bigger birds, it seems to be after the little dark-eyed juncos lately. The junco breeding pairs in the yard are very successful. While not exactly in big flocks like the sparrows, they are still the dominant group. Stands to reason the younger ones are easier to catch.

I had to fight off the ants for the feathers.

Dear Mass of Teeming Insect Life,

My lone brain is obviously inferior to your collective genius. Despite my peppering the ground below with a potent ant poison, you have managed to sidestep this formidable obstacle, and once again reach the holy grail of hummingbird nectar. You have gathered those among you who have mastered the art of swimming, and breached the defenses of the double moats.

The grail of endless sweetness has been temporarily moved to its original position under the roof overhang. Where you will no doubt send your mighty armies in the stealth of night.

Meanwhile, the hummingbird and I are pondering possible solutions. It has nixed the vaseline. But is probably grateful for the protection of the overhang, although I don’t think the average hawk will go for a hummer. See next post.

A few posts back, I was gloating about ant-proofing the hummingbird feeder. Apparently, the ants keep up with the blog.

As I sit here eating toast, deep in work, the hummingbird shows up. Instead of landing, it hovers from one opening to another, then disappears. I peer at the liquid in the feeder about ten feet away. Hmmm, this calls for a closer inspection. I had just changed the nectar on Monday, and it was still clear. Except for a speck or two, which could have been some debris from the tip of the hummer’s beak. But no. Maybe half a dozen ants were hanging in little straight lines, back legs somehow attached to the sides, heads in the nectar. A few more elsewhere, floating.

Unlike before, there was no line of marching ants heading up and down the wire of the tomato cage to which the feeder is hanging. However, there was a parade and field show going on underneath where I’d forgotten to hose down the patio.

Out come the Terro granules. When I first bought this economy-sized bag, the smell was so pervasive that I hesitated using it. But about this time each year, war is declared, and I don’t have any of the little packets of liquid left. The key to the granules is that they have to be wet to be effective. No problem today.

Ideally, the feeder would be suspended over a small pond. Lacking that, this will have to do.

Thursday is garbage day (at least 3 trucks, sometimes more). It is also the day the gardeners come and do their leaf-blowing for two houses across the way, which cranks up the chihuahua in back and sometimes the chihuahua mix next door to it. If I’m really lucky, some neighbor is having a large tree removed and composted (an all-day project). For the past few days at peak rush hour times, the main thoroughfare up the way is the site of a horrendous accident requiring the services of many emergency vehicles. Add to this the use of student djs at the junior high who are allowed to play music of their choice during recess and lunch (sometimes longer), delivered to us via loudspeaker.

While I complain about the heat this summer, on days when I have to turn on the a/c, the white noise cancels out everything else. And guess what. Several days are coming with forecasts up to the 90s and beyond.

It has resided in the pimento jar on my desk for several days. I haven’t been anxious to take a photo, thank to the vivid memory of a family member’s experience as he leaned in to shoot one years ago. His subject made a sudden move, prompting him to drop his camera.

As I was setting up, there was a loud buzzing on the window. A crane fly had somehow gotten in, and for a moment, I contemplated the obvious. But I took the fly outside. Which is where I will put this jar. Right now. (Now if it had been a housefly, that would have been different.)

In early September in the Bay Area? No way. A few drops on the skylights at first. I went back to sleep. But then, a definite shower woke me up again. Did I leave sacks of fertilizer open? No. Did I leave tools out? Yes, all the pruners. Did I get up and bring them in? No.

For over a month now, I’ve been trying to photograph the lone hummingbird that comes to the feeder. He and I are old friends now, and he has been quite patient with my efforts to get closer. Yesterday I did away with the tripod to see if I could do hand-held using my 75-300mm lens. Surprisingly, he was very tolerant as long as I didn’t move laterally.

Today, I assumed he was distracted by the missus, who dove in repeatedly as he tried to eat. But after a bit, I realized it was another male since both looked very much alike.

Now I find that whenever I go out to try for a shot, he darts away. Has this one chased the other away? Just as I got it tame enough to put up with my constant shooting? I won’t know for sure till I actually get a photo.

It used to be home to a number of salamanders living under a large, rotting stump. Not sure if they are still around, but the local raptors like to dine in the branches above. If the collections of feathers aren’t a giveaway, the whitewash on the blades of the clivia certainly are. Not much grows here, mostly because I forget to water. Due to a massive network of fine oak tree roots, if something is put in the ground, it had better be tough and low maintenance. Most everything is in pots.

This is where the monstrous fern bought earlier this summer resides. It is thriving, mostly because it is big enough to have established its own microclime. Smaller ferns are encouraged by this, and are coming around. There used to be hostas, but they gave up years ago. A few pots of bamboo, some steppingstones. And, apparently, a kajillion ants, all lined up on the hose, ready to climb up my arms and legs.

Actually, I was prepared this afternoon. Not only for them but for the strange gnats that fly into the eyes. But I didn’t see the remains of the small bird underfoot until too late.

And so a little later than usual this season, I had the swarming-ants-on-the-person moment. Once safely in the house, I saw a leaf on my shirt that I tried to flick off.

Except it was a reddish spider of a kind I’d not seen before. After I screamed, I managed to get it in a jar. It actually played dead, and was hard to move because it had spun an obstacle around itself. Perhaps I will get a photo later. But then again, maybe not. It is suspended in the jar, looking sinister.

I don’t know about you, but headlines like this make my morning a little more cheery.

I go to give the hummingbird feeder a close-up check for ants, as in ‘Is that an ant in there or a shadow of something’, and the hummingbird decides to fly in at the same time. Jeez.

As if the ants have that much of a chance. The feeder is still hanging from a tomato cage in a pot with a struggling tomato plant. However, I took the trouble to put the pot in the pot bottom that my giant fern arrived in. This is filled with water. There is this moat and the moat built into the feeder itself.

You know it’s going to be bad when the blue-belly lizards are basking on the patio right in front of the window where I work. I think they’re looking for shade.

Two of the younger members of the flock of dark-eyed juncos that empty the feeder on a twice/daily basis. They seem to make it their goal to deplete the supplies by nightfall.

A surefire method to get several of these is to move the feeder from its customary place, then arrange the camera, tripod and chair directly under the original feeder position. I didn’t do this on purpose.

Having gotten hundreds of shots of the bird from one side, I wanted it feeding from the other. In order to force it to eat from only one opening, I had to plug up the other holes. When it found short evergreen sprigs (closest things I could find that fit) emerging from these holes, it had a moment of surprise which I did not manage to film.

But the flybys, which sound like a giant bumblebee in your ear, might start up again as I get ready for some more shooting later in the afternoon when the light is not so harsh.

So how many things are wrong with this photo?

Yesterday afternoon he showed up and perched on a tomato cage. I haven’t been shooting hummingbirds very long, so this particular situation unnerved me. Usually, he bobs up and down at the feeder, then zooms away. That I can deal with.

He was distracted by his mate, I suspect, and looked as if he might raise that cap of iridescent feathers on top of his head any minute. And he kept on staying fairly still, showing me first one side, then the other, then straight on.

After a bit, I checked the camera display. Oops. Earlier, the feeder was in the shade, and all the settings were for that. By the time I corrected, he was deep into the feeder.

Overexposed. Dark shadow. The cage. The aphid at his feet. Not sharp enough.

I’m lucky he returns many times every day. For sure, I need the practice.

Nepenthes attenboroughii, named after Sir David, is capable of putting away rats. Not wee mousies now and then, but . . . well, there’s a photo. The accompanying video shows remarkable footage of how the plant produces the nectar-filled pitchers.

Less than a minute after I cleaned out the feeder and put fresh nectar in, he checked out the results.

We did make progress today. He allowed me to get within about two feet, and didn’t mind that I kept opening the screen door to go in and out. Still no sign of the missus today.

Friday, he was contorting his neck this way and that, fluffing up his body feathers, then lifted the ones on his head like a shiny cap. This seemed bizarre till I spotted the missus sitting primly off to the side. Aha! But so far, he is lord of the feeder, and nothing has tried to dispute his claim.

Part of the morning was spent moving the feeder around to get a better angle on the bird that comes by every 15 to 30 minutes. Most of the sites were in the sun, and I got a couple of good shots, so a few minutes ago, I hung it back in the shade, got my magazine and sat back to wait. Sure enough, here he comes. As I adjust the settings for shade and mess with the ISO, he buzzes by, inches away from my face and camera.

Scary, but very cool indeed.

The wind has been blowing most of the day, and my eyes are itchy and feel gritty. Is it because it’s Friday after another week of PhotoShopping numerous photos and therefore, simple eyestrain, or is there stuff blowing from Santa Cruz?

Enough work for now. Tonight I get to choose between Coraline, Slumdog Millionaire and a British series, Pie in the Sky for a dinner movie. The latter seems promising for supper: the cop is also a chef.

Just before my usual wakeup time, I tend to have the most aggravating dreams, possibly to serve to do just that, get me up. I haven’t had a test dream in a while, maybe a couple of months. This time, it was history that I hadn’t read.

And this time, it was particularly vivid to the point of specific questions and glimpses of the text that I had neglected. Pictures of metal machinery. The actual content of the text, however, eluded me. Most of my test dreams occur during my college years, but inevitably, my kids are in class with me. They hadn’t read the material either. We had probably been watching movies instead of studying. (But they don’t have these dreams.)

Question number 1: What age are we studying?

Omg. How could I fake this one without looking ridiculous. Machinery. Iron Age? Industrial Age? Could not decide. One of the classmates brought over a little card that he placed on a shelf. It had no answers. My mind held no historical facts. At least I had physically made it to class instead of being lost in a maze of unfamiliar buildings. At least I knew what the text kind of looked like, which meant I had opened the book at some point.

Oh, and the teacher said the exam would be 50% of our overall grade. I did what any sensible person would have done.

I woke up.

Sporadically for the past few days, I’ve been trying to get closer to the hummingbirds at the feeder. It’s shady at the usual feeder spot, so from time to time, I would move it to the only conveniently sunny area, which is on the tomato cages.

As you can see, some of the underachieving tomatoes are nowhere near reaching the modest height of these cages, so they may as well be put to good use.

I set up the laptop, managed to get a power supply going, and got my Pepsi too since this was going to take some time. But I was not really prepared for this little fellow to pose for several minutes while I tried frantically to get the right settings for the camera. The shots showing the lovely ruby throat were too blurry. No worries, I plan to get out there again in just a few minutes.

It’s better without the sound (Whitney Houston singing I Will Always Love You), and the story is right below the video.

Oh, and the leopard and shark photos are pretty amazing too.

Out of the blue, the connection gets weak. My airport status bar only shows one dark band. Sure enough, when I check, I see that three of my neighbors are online. Do I know them that well? Uh, no, but their names show up on the list of networks being used. One uses their real name, the others I’m fairly sure are right across the way.

Then I completely lose the connection. This is aggravating. I go back and unplug the airport base station. Plug it back in. This has worked the last few times. But it’s so annoying.

My sons the software engineers tell me this shouldn’t happen. Why does it persist? During school hours when the kids across the street are otherwise occupied, and the other neighbors are at work, no problem. Most of the neighbors are elderly or maybe they’re pc people. Is it just an airport thing?

Some days I spend 8 - 10 hours tweaking my photos with PhotoShop. By the end of the day I have lots of floaters, and the eyes are on the dry side.

Several times a day I move to another room where the light is good for taking photos. Last week, I was shooting an old suitcase full of vintage clothing from my mom’s house. I thought my eye fatigue had at last produced blurry spots at the edge of my vision. I would reararrange things, set up the tripod and there they were again, big dark things. I blinked. And blinked again. Wait a minute.

They were moths. Somehow they had gotten into the suitcase, and were rapidly vacating the premises with surprising speed. I started killing the ones in the case, but they left such a mess that I gave up.

I seem to have a bigger moth problem than originally thought. But less of an eye problem.

Fortunately, I no longer watch these while trying to eat supper. Unfortunately, I have a good idea who’s getting killed next, thanks to checking an episode guide.

Why did I feel the need to do this, knowing how there are spoilers everywhere, especially on the soundtracks I bought? Because I was concerned there was an episode missed.

Now I must carve out time after dinner to sit on the edge on my seat.

I depend on my Mac dashboard to tell me how hot it is, and for a while this morning, Cupertino temps were lower than those in SF. That has changed.

The thing about the dashboard - on days like this, the projected temperature keeps edging up. Around noon, the temp was 93°, and the forecast was moved up to 96°.

The tomato plants must be blissed out, but a few of them are getting droopy, along with the squash. Maybe now the basil will finally take off. I’m in the process of clearing out the ivy growing on this side of the fence, because next year, that’s where the pumpkins and zucchini will go. But there will be no garden work today.

I will stay in the a/c. My Macs hate this weather, and yesterday one of them crashed in the heat when I failed to cool the house down in time.

For a short time today, ShutterStock contributors were seeing their numbers doubled, in both photos sold and earnings total. It was baffling to see all of a sudden, but of course it was a bug. Some bug.