A Hummingbird in My House : The Story of Squeak

 

By Arnette Heidcamp

Arnette Heidcamp had a garden full of the kind of flowering plants that hummingbirds like. In late October of 1988, after pruning her plants for winter, she noticed a young male hummingbird in the garden who was obviously looking for something to eat. She could see it was not in good condition for the long trip to its wintering grounds down south. Being fond of hummingbirds, Arnette  was worried about the little bird and managed to lure it into her house. She set him up in her sunroom which was filled with flowering plants that a hummingbird would enjoy. Plus she supplemented his food with a commercial hummingbird food that contained everything the hummer would need to survive until spring in Arnette's sunroom.

So from October 1988 to May 1989, Arnette had the pleasure of getting to know a charming little fellow who spent the winter living in her sunroom and being catered to in every way. She named him Squeak because he was quite the squeaky boy. They became quite close, Squeak even allowed he to stroke his chest and he became quite attached to her and followed her about the sunroom whenever she was in there with him. 

Arnette knew that when spring arrived, she would have to let Squeak go free. She hoped he would make her garden the center of his world and continue to be part of her life. But when he flew out the sunroom door in May, he flew away, never to return. But he went with her best wishes for his wellbeing accompanying him.

This was an enchanting look at the life of a young, male hummingbird who got to spend the winter being pampered indoors instead of facing certain death migrating south. A time the author surely cherishes in her memories and that she generously shared with the rest of us, letting us get to know Squeak too. Lots of color photos of Squeak included.

A Walk in the Woods

By Bill Bryson

In his middle age, Bill Bryson developed the urge to hike the Appalachian Trail. The Trail runs from Georgia to Maine through the hills and mountains along the East Coast of the USA. It is more than 2000 miles long. In some places it is well maintained and in others, not so much. Most of it is up and down and, although many start out, few complete the whole trail in one trip.
Bryson hiked quite a bit when he lived in England. But the Appalachian Trail is not a pleasant stroll through settled and tamed countryside. It goes through rugged wilderness, with amenities few and far between.
Not wanting to tackle this wilderness alone, Bryson searched in vain for a friend to accompany him. He failed to find anyone until a very old friend from back home in Iowa got in touch with him. Stephen Katz needed to get away from troubles at home and offered to go with Bryson on his hike. Bryson had his doubts as Katz was known to be a drinker and he didn't think Katz was up to it. But Katz was the only one who was willing and so they started out down in Georgia.
Hiking with a loaded pack on steep grades is a real challenge. Both of the men were suffering the first few days, Katz especially. Bryson would often sit alongside the trail, waiting for Katz to catch up. They were frequently passed by younger, fitter hikers but they kept on. They kept on through the rain, through the snow, through the mud and dirt and later on, the clouds of annoying bugs. But at the end of their hike, they asked themselves, "Why?' And that's when they couldn't come up with a good enough answer and went home.
Altogether, Bryson walked about 800 miles, Katz somewhat less. And although they didn't do the whole distance, they still felt like they had accomplished something: they hiked the Appalachian Trail.

This was a fun read. Bryson has a great sense of humor and doesn't mind laughing at himself and the world around him. He also gives the reader a real sense of what it is like to be on the trail and the struggles associated with such a grand undertaking. He gives a bit of history of the Trail and the locale and how development has or hasn't affected not only the Trail but the surrounding area. Particularly interesting is the story of Centralia, Pennsylvania, the town that is perpetually on fire. Bryson has wide ranging interests and is a very intelligent man and his books are always informative without being stuffy and are seasoned nicely with humor.
For another review, see  https://www.nytimes.com/books/98/05/31/reviews/980531.31garner.html

Quail in My Bed

By Burley Packwood

The true story of three tiny quail chicks who accidentally entered the lives of Packwood and his wife Betsi.
A few days before they were scheduled to leave on an extended camping trip, Betsi found an abandoned baby quail. She named the quail Pedro and assured her husband that the chick would not interfere with the trip. Amazingly, a few days later, she found another chick, this time wandering the aisles of a store. This one she named Pedra.
So both chicks came with them on the camping trip, coddled and cuddled by Betsi. Packwood hardened his heart against the quail but gradually came to admit that they added a lot to the trip, being entertaining little birds.
Unfortunately, Pedro managed to escape and they never found him. Native to the desert southwest, Pedro got loose in the northern United States into a habitat ill-suited to his breed, the Gambels quail. He most certainly perished when winter arrived.
Pedra remained with them on their trip although they promised to free her when they returned home to Arizona. Meanwhile, she wormed her way into the author's affections and he came to cherish the little bird as she did him, regarding him as the love of her life.
Upon returning home, they gave Pedra her freedom but she refused to go. She stayed with them, sleeping inside and have free range in their house. She also had free access to the outdoors and she spent a lot of time out there but never strayed away from their patio area.
She had quite a few ailments, possibly a result of her domesticated lifestyle. She nearly died of a lung ailment, and, on the road to recovery, was bitten by a poisonous spider. Her recovery from that and a subsequent fall was slow and painful but she eventually pulled through.
Betsi soon found another lost quail chick and Pablito joined Pedra. Pablito was a ball of fire compared to Pedra and his antics kept the two people very well entertained. Pedra pretty much ignored the new addition except when the chick tried to nestle under her feathers. Pedra refused to adopt the little orphan and usually gave him a good pecking for his efforts.
Even though he totally opposed the addition of quail to his home, the author soon came to realize that their life was much richer for the presence of the little birds.

I thoroughly enjoy this story of raising young orphan quail. I personally have never seen a wild quail where I live, but from what the author says, they must be quite common in Arizona. From this book and the previous quail book I recently read, That Quail, Robert, quail sound like very interesting and amusing little birds. Although I don't suppose the author is promoting the adoption of wild quail as pets.

That Quail, Robert

By Margaret A. Stanger

Orleans, Massachusetts, July 1962. Mildred and Tommy Kienzle know that a quail has a nest in their yard. They then notice that the nest is empty except for two eggs. One of the eggs was obviously damaged but the other was fine. They took it in the house more as a curiosity than from any expectation that it would hatch. In fact, they just left if sitting on the counter. But it soon became apparent that this egg contained a living chick and in three days, Robert made her first appearance.
She quickly made herself at home with the Kienzles and with the author, Margaret Stanger, who was a kind of godmother to the chick. Robert, named so because they believed she was a male until one day when she laid an egg, loved people. She was friendly and greeted visitors with a glad cry. She loved attention and she loved to snuggle.
Robert also loved going outside, where she chased and ate bugs, took dirt baths, and dined on vegetation. But she always wanted to be back inside after awhile. She never showed any inclination to leave the Kienzles and join the wild quail. She was courted, at one time, by a male quail, and did produce several eggs, but showed no interest in nesting or paying any attention to her clutch. None of the eggs hatched.
She wasn't kept locked up and she could have flown away at any time. But she never did. Sometimes she would fly up on to the roof and sit there briefly, but she always wanted to be back in the house with her family and friends.
Robert was quite a sensation in her time and acquired many admirers. Her guest book was filled with signatures from people who came to see the little quail for themselves. A postcard with her picture was even created for her fans.
Unfortunately, quail are not long-lived creatures and even the protected environment in which Robert lived did not extend her lifespan. But even though the time she spent with the Kienzles and Margaret Stanger was all too brief, she was greatly loved and greatly missed. She was a gentle, affectionate and amusing companion.  She rarely caused problems, her worst crimes being the time she knocked over a glass of juice because she wasn't getting enough attention, the time she took a bath is a dish of broccoli, for the same reason. And the time she took a bath in a bowl of flour just because it felt so good.

This was a fun story, despite its inevitable end. Robert required a lot of care but she also brought a lot of joy into the lives of those who knew her. I know she gave me joy just reading about her. A very sweet story about a very sweet and entertaining little bird.

On a side note, I encountered three terms that I had never come across before: spatchcock, keeping room and borning room.  Spatchcock in, "He [a dog] was most often in a spatchcock position, front legs stretched out before him and hind legs stretched out behind, laying on his stomach." So I looked it up and spatchcock refers to splitting a fowl open and spreading it out flat for grilling.
Keeping room, "The routine was for me to get my book, lie down on the day bed in the keeping room, spread the blanket on my middle and call Robert." A keeping room was a room next to the kitchen and thus warmer than the rest of the house in winter. So people would gather there in the evening and even sleep there at night. It is somewhat equivalent to a family room.
Borning room, "The red velvet hat [Robert's bed] was put in the carton up on a high shelf in the little bedroom off the kitchen which in these old New England homes is called the 'borning room.'" So this is a bedroom, as the author says, next to the warm kitchen, designed for the woman of the house to use while giving birth.