22 THE wAt02 DU BON eB Use ea 
The Cradle Will Rock 
By Miss Elda Goodmiller 
THE STORY BEGINS on a rare day in June. Before the day was over it 
proved to be a very rare day indeed, for it is not often that one finds a 
hummingbird’s nest. My father was sitting on the front steps of our house 
awaiting the delivery of a tractor. I decided to join him for a moment 
while a load of clothes washed. With my binoculars I scanned the tree tops 
of the forest adjoining our front yard. Among various other birds I 
spotted a tiny jewel of a Ruby-throated Hummingbird drying her feathers 
in the sun. 
Suddenly she rose into the air, did a few dips and dives, and alighted 
on a tiny knob straddling a limb. I immediately re-focused the binoculars 
and let out a squeal of delight. A life-long ambition was realized! I had 
found a hummingbird’s nest! It was directly over our driveway on an elm 
branch about fifteen feet from the ground. 
The little bird mite was not going to be bored during her tedious task 
of incubating the tiny eggs. She peered over the edge of her nest while 
stock trucks, tractors pulling various equipment, and cars passed under her 
home. Also many people came to see her and the nest. The hummingbird 
proved to be a very good ‘“‘people watcher.” 
Oh, yes. After finding the nest and telephoning my bird loving friends, 
I returned to earth and the forgotten wash. The rinse water had started to 
flow in when I left the house. When I came back at last, the tub was full 
and a small lake had formed on the kitchen floor. Who cared? The floor 
needed scrubbing anyway, and I had a hummingbird’s nest in my front 
yard! 
After about two weeks I found it hard to locate the mother near the 
nest. I feared the worst, but eventually I spotted something fuzzy above 
the rim. In a few days two tiny birds could be seen. The infants grew 
rapidly, and soon the nest split on one side. Life became quite crowded 
in the tiny house. The youngsters were just as interested in all the activity 
under and around the house as their mother had been. There was much 
neck stretching and even leaning over baby brother (or sister) to see the 
huge bird that just flew by. (That one was a Catbird.) Between episodes 
of feeding and looking, the young were exercising their gossamer wings. 
The minute but sturdy nest of fungi, down, and saliva endured two 
severe storms. In June, while the mother was incubating, a tornado passed 
about a mile from us, destroying buildings. Our yard was lashed by strong 
winds. Just two days before the young left the nest, another strong wind 
and rain storm descended on us. I paced the floor during the storm, and as 
soon as it slackened, I dashed out in the rain. There were the humming- 
birds, as perky as ever. 
On July 23 one baby disappeared from the nest between the hourly 
observations. The remaining bird enjoyed all the extra room and really 
performed his calisthenics. On the morning of July 24 he was still in the 
nest. I had to go elsewhere that day, and again I did not see the actual 
departure. That night the little nest was deserted. 
I saw the young hummers many times around the flower beds, and 
they often fed at a box just outside the window as I worked at my sewing 
machine, One evening as I worked in a flower border, a hummingbird 
perched less than an arm’s length away. 
