by Mary Ann Carr
A city-girl most of my life, I never realized until I moved to the small town of Mathews how intriguing life on the Chesapeake Bay could be. Especially for bird-lovers like me. No wonder, considering the 185 species of birds enjoying the county’s 94 square miles of natural habitat.
After only a few days in the country, I was awed by all the unusual sights I saw right outside my window. Like a colony of white egrets. I spotted at least 20 of them nesting on a large tree across the creek, perched like magnificent decorations on the branches of a Victorian Christmas tree.
One morning, I was mesmerized by a classroom of wild turkeys, the mother leading her five poults across my lawn, her tiny students lined up behind her in a straight row like kindergarten children. Approaching a huge holly bush, the mother jumped up and plucked one of its berries from a branch. After a backward glance, she moved forward, allowing room for the first poult to try it. The little creature jumped high and caught a berry just like its mother had done. Then, it moved on ahead to make room for the next one in line.
Another morning, I pulled up the blind and was delighted to find a perfectly-shaped orb web spanning the picture window, the amazing work of my resident garden spider. I noticed in the very center of the web, a wiggling object the size of my thumb. It took me a moment to realize it was a hummingbird trapped in a tight cocoon of sticky spider silk, struggling in vain to free itself.
I ran outside with scissors and cut the cocoon away from the web. I was dismayed, however, to realize I couldn’t free the bird without damaging its wings. My husband held the tiny patient in a shoebox while I drove the “ambulance” to our local vet. Though the bird was as still as death, it wasn’t silent. Instead, it was screaming, a high shrill noise like a dentist’s drill. Until that moment, I had no idea hummingbirds ever made a sound.
After reaching the vet’s office, I rushed the bird into his examining room, disregarding the many patrons with cats and dogs who sat patiently waiting their turn in the outer office lounge. All of them expressed concern about the bird and not one complained that this emergency would extend their wait.
It took over 30 minutes for the vet to free his patient from the sticky web. Then, holding the bird in his cupped hand, the vet led me outside. All of the other patrons followed. Gathering around him, we watched as the vet slowly opened his hand. We applauded when the bird took flight and disappeared beyond the woods. Quite a moving moment. Actually, the perfect scene from a Hallmark movie. The only thing missing—a soundtrack with violins.
After the applause quieted, the vet invited me into his lab. There, he pointed to his microscope. Looking through it, I was amazed to see a rainbow, all of its brilliant colors reflected on a miniscule thread of silk, a tiny strand of the spider’s web.
I asked the vet what would happen to the bird. He laughed and told me it was already at my house, waiting to greet me. He was right. When I got home, I saw the hummer hovering around the picture window. For weeks after the mishap, it would come to the window and peek inside. I believed it was thanking me. Maybe. Maybe not. But I like to think so.
I like to think that saving the hummer was a small token for the amazing gifts of nature I receive every morning when I look out of my window and watch nature’s happenings in my back yard in the country.
Mary Ann Carr initially wrote this “short piece” for a Rappahannock Community College-Rappahannock Institute for Lifelong Learning Personal Essay course taught by Gail Wilson Kenna. Carr is a member of the RCC-RILL book club as well as the local chapter of PEN Women.
