Migration

The days are growing shorter, and I can feel the chill in the wind. It is the unrelenting turn of nature that comes at the same time every year and brings the cold airstream of seasonal change. Soon I’ll ascend to the sky and make my way across the earth to the safety and warmth of Panama.

It is a dangerous trip, but I’ve made it before, and my unerring instincts will take me back to my winter home, where I’ll dip into the nectar of abundant flowers. But first, I must increase my weight. Three grams will not get me from my home in my southern Canada meadow across the Gulf of Mexico to Panama. I need much more fat to survive the trip.

I look for tiny insects to compliment the nectar from the abundant red morning glory and honeysuckle. There, I see a hoard of gnats. A feast of protein and fat. I dart toward the gnats and hover in midair to snap one up. A cousin of mine, Anna’s Hummingbird with his ugly red head and throat and much larger than I dives in, so I wind my way to the sky to avoid a fight. He is much bigger, but not faster. I elude a disastrous dog fight with my cousin. I have no love for him and avoid his larger species. I, with my iridescent ruby red throat am more agile and beautiful.

My favorite feeder still provides me with the sugary liquid I crave. I’m sad to leave but know I will return in the spring. Tears come to my eyes as look toward the nest I built. It is tiny, not much bigger than a thimble, but it served me well. This year I had a clutch of three eggs. When born, my tiny charges weighed less than one fiftieth of an ounce. So small, yet they ate voraciously for three weeks until they could forage on their own. Once grown, like me, they will set out to the south making their way to a destination they have never been before. But I know they will not fail, as their instincts will guide them. I will set out alone once they have left. Perhaps I will see them back here in the spring.

My time is short now, so I take to the sky heading south. The journey is nearly three thousand miles and is filled with danger. It is a lonesome journey I dread but must make if I want to live another year. I’m praying I will find some good headwinds to ease my journey. If only I could soar on the wind like the eagle, but that will not happen. Tiny as I am, I must flap my wings seventy beats per second to keep from falling from the sky.

The first day is long and I look for a resting spot to spend the night and replenish myself. I see a field of flowers and prepare to bed down for the night before the sun sets. Before I sleep, I spend time flitting from flower to flower dipping my slender bill into their heart until I have eaten over seven times my weight. I have survived the hardest day—the first of many, maybe of a couple of months. After all, my tiny body can only travel so far each day.

This is my third year to make this journey and I know if I survive I may only have two more years to enjoy. My heart speeds up to over 1,260 beats per minute at the thought of how short my time on earth is. I must make the most of it and enjoy every minute of the journey. My days are filled with the thrill of flight and knowing I will soon be in the safety of my winter home in Panama. My nights are filled with dreams of nectar and a new love in the spring. Who will it be this time?

When he sees me, he will fluff out the feathers of his red throat to attract me. He’ll dive over and over to show me how fast and strong he is. If I like him, I’ll turn my tail to him and drop my wings. He will sow his seed and then move on to another. I will occupy my time with building a nest and then care for my brood alone. Such is life.

On day sixty-five of my journey, I feel the wind change and know a storm will soon arrive. This is my most dangerous enemy. If I don’t find shelter I could be dashed to the ground, my broken wings forever still. I dive toward earth and look for a tree with lots of vegetation close to the ground. I spot a safe place and perch on a low-lying branch, clinging to the branch with my claws as the winds try to whip me from my safe place. For hours I hunker down clinging to the branch and to life.

At last the storm passes, and I continue my journey. The air is fresh and clear and I breath it in rejuvenating my lungs. I’m almost there and have stopped to feed when I sense a predator nearby. The Shark-shinned Hawk circles and dives, just missing me. I dart, turn and circle around. The hawk follows. I’m terrified and my heart beats even faster than normal. I fly into a pocket-sized nest of vegetation and the hawk retreats. Although a smaller bird of prey, it is too large to follow. I have escaped this time. It will leave, but the memory of its sharp eyes and black talons frightens me. I must be more careful.

On day seventy-three I reach my destination. I’m exhausted and famished. I can barely fly anymore. I must get nourishment before I rest. Ah, there’s a flower, seductive in its red dress. I feed at its throat, and then sated, pass into a torpor and my dreams.

I never knew what happened. The feral feline pounced while I was in my stupor, happy to have a meal of sweet, nectar filled Hummingbird.