If I was uncertain if it was really him, all doubts were dispelled today when he appeared to challenge one of the goldfinches.

It is said that a wandering hummingbird will want to find his old feeder in the same spot upon his return. So far, I’m keeping it right in front of where I work, which is too shady a spot for photos. Once he gets used to his old routine, I’ll move it. Not very far, just to where there’s some better light. Perhaps by the weekend, I can take some video. I’ve sold more of Sparky than anything else.

Last year, he would get irritated whenever I moved the feeder, but eventually he got used to it. The bird population has grown considerably since he left, especially in the goldfinch category. If he contributed to the demise of that other hummingbird, he probably won’t take nonsense from them, even if they are bigger.

My optometrist took one look at my bloodshot eyes, and handed me a list of ‘approved’ artificial tear products. The one I have in the medicine cabinet is not on this list. Few stores carry these brands. Since I needed to check out birdhouses at Walmart (best prices, if you need one), the family member and I found ourselves there after supper.

Shortly after our arrival, someone knocked down a glass jar of pickles. A baby began crying, as one always does in this store. Well, I can understand.

We try to make our visits as brief as possible. On our way out, the two gentlemen in front of us reminded me of People of Walmart. One had on overalls and a t-shirt that was underneath them, but not tucked in right so he had this ballooning thing going on. On the back of his gray head, he had a little braid. Short but definitely braided. The other guy looked normal, but someone had to spend some time enabling this braiding.

And by the way, out of the eight ‘approved’ tears list, Walmart has six. That is truly amazing. (I got the GenTeal mild to moderate.)

Please bear with me, he’s been gone a couple of months, looks scruffy and has gotten camera shy again. Here is a terrible shot through a really dirty window in very little light:

How do I know it’s him? Between 7:00 and 7:56 p.m. tonight, he has come by the feeder more than 10 times. The only other hummers don’t sit and feed like he does, they sip and are gone within seconds. He knows it’s his feeder, and takes his own sweet time.

Which begs the question, where did that hummingbird body we found in the deer scare (which I thought was Sparky) come from? Did he kill a rival and vanish for a while? It really didn’t make sense that he would die in a fountain he saw every day, and took baths in. But the weather was brutal back in April when he disappeared. I looked carefully at the remains, and noted that Sparky didn’t have that many white-tipped tail feathers.

I had heard that ruby-throated hummers migrate. However, there have been females in the yard and at least one or two juveniles that chose to stick around.

But all is well, he’s back. And starved, obviously.

Here’s what he really looks like.

I’m not the only local person missing resident hummingbirds . For the past few days, however, a smaller version of Sparky has been appearing sporadically at the feeder. I know it’s not him because it doesn’t have the full gorget, plus it is easily intimidated by the chickadees. Sparky always stood his ground, even to the bigger birds. This younger one wasn’t quite sure how to use the feeder at first.

Since we found the body of a hummer that was Sparky’s size a while back, I concluded that he had succumbed to our bad weather. Today, there’s a different one the same size as Sparky, and not flitting away as soon as I appear. By the end of the month, I will be setting up the laptop outside. If it’s really him, he will take my presence in stride, as he did all last year from May on.

Three years ago, it would saved a lot of grief had I been able to get it before the event.

In retrospect, it was a very interesting time. If only it weren’t for the itching, the swelling and the incredible pain. To keep distracted, I began work on a photograph of an antique printing press that required isolation. At the time, I didn’t know certain shortcuts I could have taken in PhotoShop. This photo took an entire week to process, given my condition. I was still having to go over to the extended family’s house to watch over a disabled family member, shingles or no shingles.

It is one of my best-selling photos at iStock.

As the June 30th deadline approaches for a work project, I can’t allow distractions to keep me from falling behind. Life, however, tosses a dump truck full of issues on the doorstep when I get these deadlines. The days are just packed, as Bill Watterson used to say.

Most of these issues have been shoveled aside, and pity the poor solicitor who rings the bell, expecting a gracious hello, yes I’d love to hear about your bond spiel. I’m taking a lesson or two from a) my extremely rude neighbor Ruth, b) my late Aunt Sissy, who had hooded eyelids and a venomous tongue.

The only distraction I allow is the Wii tennis. It makes me get up from my chair, forces me to sweat, and in ten-minute sessions several times/day, slowly makes me lose weight. To my dismay, I discovered that once a certain level is reached, it’s no longer a matter of merely beating the opponents. Points go up only if the match is won in a decisive manner, as in not letting it go to deuce, for example.

Looks like I will have to spend some time on the balance board next.

The tufted titmouse is one of the shyer residents of the yard, overly fond of mealworms. I don’t get many pictures of it, but lately it has become emboldened by the apparently addictive nature of these worms.

Things have been really hectic around here on the human front, and I’ve not paid a lot of attention to the bird population except to keep the feeders full of seeds and suet. Once or twice a day, I open the box of mealworms, which, to my surprise, grew mightily during the warm spell. I put a few in each feeder. Today, I only did it once early in the morning.

Various events occurred to make my morning extremely unproductive, none of which were my fault. After lunch, I had a lot of catching up to do, and by 4, I went to shower, bringing in the suet feeders to keep them safe from the squirrels.

Afterward, I had time to tackle the work pile again. What should appear on the nandina branch that I can see just over the laptop but the titmouse. It turned this way and that, keeping its eyes on me. I waved, as crazy bird people like me do. (I have found that hand motions make them less wary; this has worked on the towhees and wrens. Working on the goldfinches and doves.) It did not leave. Instead, it stopped, and just perched, looking at me.

It is the same look I get from the chickadees. So I dutifully got up and pulled out a few more mealworms. My supply is getting low, hence the rationing. But when the towhee removes them three at a time, and the wren and its baby hop up and swallow them whole, I have to consider reordering. Real soon.

The wren baby watched while its parent moved a mealworm around till it was just in the right position. It flipped the worm a few times, and down the hatch it went. It ignored the baby, who was waiting with its beak open. But thankfully, it is a fast learner. It reached in, selected a worm, and just like Mom, maneuvered it into position, and the worm disappeared.

The loudspeaker is turned up very loud at the junior high up the street. Soon the struggling sounds of the band will carry over on the spring breeze, a yearly interval of certain pain. Speeches are currently being practiced, and then there will be the reading of names.

One night soon, every possible space on the surrounding streets will be occupied by hurrying parents, desperately late ones will park illegally. There will be much cheering, airhorns, screaming, etc.

Mornings will be quieter, no stream of cars up and down the street to tell me it’s close to 8:00 a.m., and I’d better hurry up and focus on my work, time’s a wasting. Afternoons, ditto, except, it’s 3:00 p.m., why do I have so little done.