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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I’m always on the lookout for bears with character - used ones at garage and estate sales. They sit fairly still for photos, and if they won’t lean the right way, a well-placed heavy rock does the trick. (I know what you’re thinking, but I am very kind to my bears.) Tape sticks to plush badly, but given a little time and persistence, my bears generally do what I ask.

This morning found me at a Palo Alto sale where a very large old bear slumped in a dark corner with a pink pig. Quite used and full of personality, it was, sadly, missing an eye. Rejected.

At the next sale, there were masses of new stuffed animals. Not a good sign. Prices were high, but when I picked up the lone large bear, a woman exclaimed, ‘Name a price! We’re open to anything!’

The fur was suitably old-looking, but it looked more like a dog with upright ears. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘It’s definitely a bear.’ I poked around the face, looking for eyes in all that thick fur. ‘You can trim back the fur if you like, but it’s got eyes.’

So what did we settle on? ‘You can have it for a dollar.’ Sold.

The family member who is a father had chosen Park Chow as his preferred place to dine on the week-early Father’s Day celebration last Sunday. Another family member, the Seattle one, is on call on the actual date, so we made do.

As we prepared to circle the block once more, hoping someone would leave, a slot opened up at just the right moment. After we parked, we realized it would be hard to forget where we were leaving the car.

Sure, he looks innocent here, but he’s merely taking a deep, cleansing breath before inhaling most of the food.

After he and his male peers finished flinging food around, I decided to take another approach. The towhees are the largest birds to come to the feeding table. Part of their food strategy is to scratch around, and I’ve tried to modify this behavior through the judicious use of a cowbell-like noisemaker.

This is a bird that jumps in fear when a big morsel of food (that it has just gotten and dropped) rolls on the table a bit. I thought maybe if I applied a loud noise when it started flinging, it would learn that this was inappropriate behavior. Silly me.

It took a couple of days. Soon, the towhee only turned around slightly when it heard the noise. Cornmeal flew everywhere.

Today, guess who was the first to line up at dawn. (I bring the food indoors at night.) But this time, I moved the cornmeal dish slightly under a flowering plant on the table. The smaller birds could reach the food easily. The towhee could too, but flinging would require some acrobatic maneuvering.

By late afternoon, it had figured things out. Tomorrow is another day.

I know it’s a terrible photo. See previous posts for reasons why. But I plan to sponsor an eating competition very soon between a few of the male towhees that frequent my feeding table.

But first, I need to go out and buy a 50-lb bag of cornmeal and two Costco-sized jars of peanut butter.

She appears to be undergoing the molting, although some sources say this doesn’t occur till later in the summer. The babies are resplendent, Mother needs some spa time.

I talk to this bird a lot. Sometimes I say, ‘Do you think you can get a little more in there?’ (It can. Because there’s peanut butter in the mix, it has learned that breadcrumbs and seed will adhere to the main gob.)

And yes, I know that little dish serves the small birds well, but is way tiny for the big guys. I’m working on it. To think that once upon a time, the towhees were too shy to come feed on the table. And I’m still trying to figure out how to take decent photos through the window, which has a fine coating of cornmeal from the multiple flingings of these same towhees, despite my constant windexing.

The California towhee’s normal foraging behavior consists of scratching the ground with both feet to uncover tasty bits under leaves and other debris. While this works well in its natural environment, it wreaks havoc in a feeding station.

Yesterday, I cleaned the whole area where I leave bird food. Turns out the raisin bread crumbs gave some of them the runs. As certain family members would put it, kinda like having to go to the restroom before even leaving the restaurant.

Then I ran errands. Upon my return, something had urinated on the table. I suspect the squirrels, which keep watch on my comings and goings. Then the towhees came, and sent the cornmeal flying in all directions. This irritates me no end.

When I started feeding the birds, only a few juncos showed up. Now it’s wildly successful, with accompanying problems. When I leave, I have to cover the food.

This morning when I got back from more errands, I got a glimpse of the departing squirrel, who had managed to remove the cover, which was weighed down with the ceramic seagull. No matter, I have figured out a solution. More later.

It slammed into a window one quiet Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, dying instantly. As best as I can determine, it was a ladder-backed woodpecker. Other than a small wound on one side of its head, it was remarkably intact.

Of course, I got photos from every angle, and as you can see, its relation to a much larger (possible) predecessor is obvious.

Mr. Towhee is under the apple tree doing his mating dance. I’m not sure about the chickadees, but the juncos are starting to get territorial wherever there is enough groundcover to hide a nest, though you’d think they’d just reuse the old one. Meanwhile the chickadee fledglings are hanging out in the pyracantha, waiting to get a bath from the upturned hose.

If I’m not paying attention, and just aim the hose upward, they can topple off the limbs. Which doesn’t seem to really deter them. But if I get it just right, word gets out, and this afternoon, there were five or six making their happy sounds and getting a shower. As soon as I set up one of the old lawn sprinklers, maybe I can get a movie of them. Well, as soon as I figure out how to take movies with the new camera.

The grub? It defecated a tremendous amount in its container, and I released it this morning.

The hummers that live in my yard (I found a nest last week) love their showers, and as it turns out, a dip in the pool now and then. This is the water pump on my small pot with the deer scare that is not visible here.

I never do handheld photos well, but only had a few seconds to take the shot.

It was wriggling in the dish this morning. After a bit of cleanup, there was another photo session, during which I decided it must be some form of June bug, both due to its appearance and the remarkable ability to navigate on its back.

After taking the photos, I went into another room to see if these turned out better than the ones yesterday. When I returned a few minutes later, it was nowhere to be found. Oh no! A fat larva almost two inches long lost in the living room.

But happily, there it was on the carpet, some three feet from where I left it. For all its dormant appearance, it can really move when the need arises.

The pot had not been moved for at least a year. Underneath was quite a surprise. After a brief photo session, I put it in the bowl reserved for the cornmeal/peanut butter mix that the birds at the feeder are addicted to.

Usually, the grubs I find are perhaps 1/2″ long. Once a live thing is in the bowl, I turn around, and something has seized it. However, the birds came by for a look and shunned this offering. Why, they could cut it up into a few steaks, a couple of roasts and maybe some spareribs and a ham or two. (I only show a portion of this beast to stay within the constraints of decency.)

Curiously, it seemed the first chickadee that happened by buried it in the cornmeal. I pulled it back to the top. Later, a family member came home, noticed that it was once again covered, and excavated it. It took a while, but I finally realized that the grub was doing the burying.

By nighttime, it was still trying very hard to cover itself.

Tomorrow I will try to find out just what it is, or what it will become. Don’t worry, I will share.

Meanwhile, here are some similar-looking brethren. The ones on the top row appear to have been bathed, compared to my specimen in its unwashed glory.

I first encountered hair-chewing when volunteering in a child’s first grade classroom. One of my tutees could not begin any task without wrapping a strand of her hair around her fingers, then sticking it in her mouth. As time went on, I wondered why her mother didn’t just cut her hair really short.

There’s a revolting photo of what happens when this is carried to an extreme. Scroll down to the second story here, and put that sandwich down.

Thanks to my continuing efforts to thwart the squirrels, today is the first day that a dove could feed relatively undisturbed. I had placed metal pie pans around the edges of the feeding table in hopes of splashing the occasional curious squirrel. Over the weekend, the water evaporated, and the poor dove kept upending the pans when it landed, terrifying itself with the racket.

Even more interesting, the sight of the dove didn’t intimidate the smaller birds. When the towhee eats, nothing else comes by, but the chickadees, juncos and titmice all shared at the same time, more or less. However, the dove was the champion eater.

Perhaps tomorrow I can bring out the 5D and get some decent shots without giving it a heart attack.

The baby was in the raised beds, enjoying a morning shower. The parents were frantic in the oaks above, screaming while trying to gain a foothold on the tips of the branches that didn’t really support their weight well.

I thought it was another photo op.

As soon as I got out there with the tripod, one dove at me. Then the other parent came from another direction. Meanwhile, the baby found the fence to be a formidable obstacle. When I say baby, I mean fledgling, and full-sized at that. I crept closer.

In the past, I’ve had parent crows swoop down before. One year, a fledgling was down somewhere in the neighborhood. To make sure no human would bother it, Mom and Pop attacked everyone out for a walk. This went on for several days.

The morning’s fledgling was unnerved by the sight of the tripod and camera plus moving human. Suddenly, it had the ‘Oh, right, I can fly’ moment, and took off for the top of the fence. The parents went beserk, unsure of whether to keep going after me or to encourage their baby.

Not a single shot did I manage to get. But I am wide awake.

An Indian village of 2,000 families has 250 sets of twins. That’s six times the usual rate.

For such a small bird, it made a very loud thump on the window. It didn’t seem to be moving as it lay on the ground. When I picked it up, it stretched out a wing stiffly. Oh no, I thought, a broken wing. Its tiny feet couldn’t get a grip in my palm so I set it in some veronica. And then of course, my main instincts kicked in, and I went inside for the tripod.

I managed to get a few shots taken. Suddenly, the eyes brightened, the heartrate quickened, and it went straight up in the oak tree. What a recovery!

After supper, it was still 90°. But it looked as if we were going to have pink clouds at sunset. I’m never ready for these things. Tried to leap out of my chair, but stuck to it again, thanks to the temps and suddenly, it seemed, high humidity. No time for a tripod, the mosquitoes would have cheered had that been a possibility. I brushed a few off my arm, and took some quick shots at high speed with the lens that’s really not meant for this.

Of course it was dark. But for a few seconds, the western sky looked like the cover of my copy of Dante, minus a couple of small details.

The dark-eyed juncos are waiting for me when I come out here in the morning. I have to put a cover on the feeder at night to keep the varmints at bay. Most days I fix my oatmeal first, but it’s obvious they are impatient and all but lined up. Now I see why.

The juvenile screeches and follows the parents all over the yard. This is one of two, the other is not as demanding, and doesn’t feel the need to puff up its feathers.

My photo setup is not quite there yet, I’m working on it. Dark, gloomy day, constantly moving subjects fluffing and unfluffing. Beaks eating at high speeds.

Curious about what Getty scouts are pulling off the flickr archive? Here you go. (Hint: they all tend to have that real polished look. Well, of course.) And no one said they were cheap.

He has gotten more used to my being so close by. Mrs. Towhee regularly chases him off, so I don’t have a really high opinion of him, but notice that the two of them put away a huge amount of seed. He still turns his back if I watch too closely.

From their comings and goings, they seem to live in the arbovitae.

It’s not everyday that I get over a thousand grubs via the mail. When the box was opened, a vaguely familiar smell came forth. Toasty, kind of fried, with an undercurrent of animal.

Pork rinds. That’s close. So far, the juncos are eating all around them, but we’ll see as the afternoon moves on.

Some of you will go, ‘Ewwwww, how gross is that.’ Others will say, ‘Mmmmm, sardines.’ Still others would say, ‘But is that it?’

Well, no. There was the olive oil potato salad, which will have to do till I start making my own mayo, because I can’t deal with the vinegar in bought mayonnaise. I will do this soon, I miss mayo, especially in potato salad. So I wound up not finishing the sardines. Then later, I had some blueberry cobbler, which was not photogenic at all, but quite good.

Then I went out and bought more prop dishes.

One of the squirrels that tries to dine here has been relocated to another city. Meanwhile, the dark-eyed juncos continue to rule the dining table, chasing off everything else when they eat. Mr. and Mrs. Towhee still look terrified when they come by, but they visit much more frequently.

I just ordered 1250 roasted grubs. Things will get more interesting when they arrive.

Somehow I missed this when it first hit the intertubes. Just looking at the step-by-step photos is enough to make more than a few arteries constrict in fear.

I actually have all the ingredients on hand to make this. But I seriously doubt I will.

The junco that frequents the feeder more than others has a deformity of some kind, which forces it to peck at seeds in an awkward way. Today, I noted that it is the only bird that poops in the seeds. Not often, but maybe enough to set off one of its kin, which swooped in suddenly and attacked. A big patch of feathers was torn off, and the poor thing tried to hide inside the birdhouse with the porch. Unfortunately, there is an old nest of twigs in there, so its way was blocked. Interesting that it didn’t try to fly off.

It was still there when I went looking among my birdhouse collection for something more suitable. I set up one that is missing a door, but is appropriate, or will be quite so when I find some bird bedding.

Appearances are deceiving. Most of the time, it looks like this, all fluffy and low riding. But once today, it transformed into a much sleeker version, but only for a few seconds. It might be sick, because its heartbeat shakes its whole body, very unlike the other birds. When it finished eating, it rested for a long time, pulsating.

This shot was taken just before sunset at a high ISO, hence the considerable artifacting. Why did I not set up the better camera with the tripod?

Most of them - the juncos, the chickadees, wrens, towhees - regard the tripod as The Monster. And when the bigger camera is attached, then it’s The One-Eyed Monster, to be avoided at all times. Or else they stay, eating really fast with a look of terror, which does not make for a happy picture.

But perhaps time will change things.

A thought-provoking look into the behavior of the passengers and crew of the US Airways flight that landed in the Hudson. Plus a stunning photo.

She takes photos of her child, usually with animals. At her site, she says the animals are not added via PhotoShop.

Do you have a small kitchen? No counter space, like me? Are you a food writer and author of books about food? Maybe you should take a look at this.

Seeing those excellent food blogs means I should stop dragging my feet and get going on my own. I stopped photographing food for months, thanks to all the allergy problems, but now that it’s Christmas, I’m starting to get a spark of interest again.

Some old favorites on Bon Appetit’s list, via the NYT. Not only are they excellent foodies, but they’ve got the scrumptious photography skills as well.

The crows left it alone this morning, and it tolerated my attempts for a little longer than usual.

Obviously caught during the night, it made a nest of leaves and pieces from a garbage bag nearby. By the time I saw it around 9:30 a.m., it was very, very sleepy. Unlike a previous raccoon, which growled and bared its teeth whenever I got near, this one was docile and quiet, curling up in a ball to sleep.

However, once the cage was moved, it became extremely animated, and the family member who relocated it to the woods near the reservoir reported that it ‘galloped’ away when released.