Hummingbird rescue

A group of Summer School teachers gathered sadly as the buses departed for the day. "How I long to teach them for just a few more hours," sighed one. A friend patted her arm consolingly. "Don't worry, they'll be back tomorrow." Squaring their shoulders with determination, spines straight with renewed resolve, this team of educators returned to their rooms to pour over data, determine differentiated lesson plans based on individual student needs and interests, and triple their paper mache recipes so the children could create life-sized models of the human skeletal system.

"But first I've got to get a gander at that hummingbird," my friend Marcia said, marching into Jaime's room. "What?!?" I asked, hot on her heels, not sure of exactly what I'd be seeing. A student project? A toy replica? A charming Youtube video? Certainly not a REAL hummingbird. I entered the room to hear the familiar droning of a mosquito. A rather LARGE, panic-stricken mosquito. Yup...it was a REAL hummingbird.

One of the most charming (and infuriating) qualities shared by educators is that we are problem-solvers. Whether you want us to or not, we ARE going to solve your problem. Jaime seemed rather nonplussed about the appearance of a hummingbird in her room. But Marcia and I immediately became hysterical. Thank goodness it was a wayward hummingbird weighing four grams rather than a 63,000 pound beached whale. We might have injured ourselves.

Marcia and I sprang into action. "Shut the door," I snapped (before closing it myself because I don't like to be bossy). Marcia grabbed an umbrella. A perfectly reasonable strategy. Mary Poppins snapped those kids right into shape with hers. I waited, wondering if Marcia was going to break into a little dance number. I'm a big fan of "Chim Chim Cher-ee." Apparently more of a "Nanny McPhee" fan, the hummingbird wasn't familiar with the choreography so Marcia abandoned her umbrella idea.

"If only there was a net," someone lamented. Brightening with the hope that she might be able to get these lunatics out of her classroom, Jaime rooted through her stuff and emerged victoriously with a badminton racket. Marcia and I looked at her in horror. "Do you think she actually believes that a badminton "birdie" is a real bird when her family plays at home," Marcia whispered. It was too terrible to consider.

Suddenly, I went into spider-mode. A seasoned veteran of the capture-and-release of home-bound arachnids, I realized that my method might also be applied to hummingbirds. "Quick, I need a bowl," I ordered (before going over to empty Jaime's candy bowl myself because I don't like to appear bossy). Clutching the badminton racket (because she wanted to get it out of the hands of suspected bird-killer Jaime), Marcia spotted me for safety (and support as my legs are a little wobbly) as I climbed up on a chair to reach our little feathered friend. Using the bowl as a dome, I gently encased him. Marcia ditched the racket for a folder which I slid between the bowl and the window. Together, we leaned out the window and watched. As the folder was lifted, so too, did our hummingbird lift heavenward. It was almost a spiritual experience. Until we realized that the only thing Jaime wanted was for us to get the hell out of her room. You're welcome, Jaime (and thanks for the candy!).