NATURE'S CHILDREN: Hummingbirds and Honeybees

An AI generated image

It was late May. The feeder had been hanging outside my window for weeks, filled and ready, as I waited for my hummingbird to appear. I had almost given up when suddenly, with a flash of green and the buzz of tiny wings, he was back! A wee sprite of a bird weighing only .01 oz, the weight of a penny, the Ruby-throat had traveled for weeks from Central America to spend the summer in my backyard. He was hungry and settled right down to eat. Over the coming weeks I filled the feeder frequently. When I took it inside to wash and fill it, the bird stationed himself in the dogwood tree and waited for me to come out. Before the feeder was even back on the hook he'd fly around my head and chirp in my ear. It was as if he were telling me to hurry up with his dinner. What a bossy little guy! And I wasn't the only one he bossed around. If a wren or a cardinal hopped around under the feeder, he attacked. And whenever another hummer came to feed, he zoomed down and chased it. They careened around the yard like a couple of tiny fighter jets. My hummingbird usually drove the intruder away, but he spent almost as much time guarding "his" feeder as he did eating from it.

By contrast, there were the honeybees. They came from my neighbor's backyard hives and gathered around the fish pond to drink from damp moss on the rocks. Benign and gentle, they didn't bother me as I tended to the pond. They simply shifted aside, even if I moved the rocks. The bees were happy when they discovered sugar water in the hummingbird feeder. My hummingbird, on the other hand, went ballistic. He zipped and zoomed around chasing the bees unmercifully. They didn't fight back, but they outnumbered him. Even though the hummingbird was a lot bigger (it takes 20 - 25 honeybees to equal the weight of a hummingbird), the bees soon took over the feeder. That little hummingbird was upset. I was afraid he'd have a stroke. To try and de-escalate things, I hung a second feeder, one that was constructed so that it was difficult for the bees to reach the nectar. The hummer now had a bee-free feeder. That didn't placate him. He wanted both feeders. The craziness continued. Now he was chasing bees from one feeder and hummers from the other. I tried to put an end to the madness by placing a flat saucer of sugar water on the patio. The bees moved down to the saucer, content to leave the feeder alone. With bird battles still raging above, the bees lined up around the saucer to drink. There was no jostling for position, no fighting for the best spot. When a new bee flew in to feed, her sister-bees scooted over to make room for her. Soon they were shoulder to shoulder around the saucer, a perfect circle of bees. Heads down, abdomens pulsating, they drank the sweet nectar. Everyone had a place and everyone had aplenty.

Looking back, it's a shame I didn't have a small child at my knee to watch the drama unfold outside. We would have marveled at the way the hummingbird hovered on those tiny wings and been surprised by how fiercely he defended the feeder against much larger birds. I'm sure there would have been a discussion about the wisdom of being calm around bees because they can sting. I imagine that we would have pulled out the crayons to draw colorful pictures and staple them together to make a book. (I can see it now, "Hummingbirds and Honeybees" by Small Child and Granny.) When the book was finished, we might have gone to the kitchen to make a batch of nectar and then googled how the bees were going to turn that nectar into honey. But the most important thing would have been the life lessons gleaned from watching. Simple lessons, but important ones: co-operating is better than fighting, sharing is better than hoarding, there is strength in numbers, bigger is not always better and....... even if you have a stinger you don't have to use it.

Betsy Saunders

February, 28, 2026