It was not a Hitchcock movie, we will grant you that. And the first thing we read in the group session this morning was about reports of blood clotting in citizens who got the Moderna vaccine to protect us from whatever that pandemic thing was. So, all in all, we are down to looking for some good news this morning under clear skies and pleasant temperatures. It took a while, but in the end we decided it was a decent season for the fowl at Refuge Farm.

The Writer’s Section still has a minor component that smokes, so there is a certain regularity of conversations that transition in place and composition. Looking blankly into the verdant foliage thus occupies irregular but frequent periods in which the birds get in front of the rich green.

We talk about the Turkeys and the Turkey Buzzards, the Heron and those two elegant hawks. The buzzards sometimes number thirty in the tree by the estate office during migration season. But the overall fan base is reserved for the Hummingbirds that are accustomed to hitting the feeders when they summer over. The high-count for the season is six of the little rascals, though DeMille claims observation of seven total. That number is unconfirmed.

During the argument about that, Splash suggested we call our outside time “Bird Watching” rather than “waiting for Splash to finish that butt.”

With everything else going on, “bird watching” also translates into a certain environmental awareness as the weeks slide past Labor Day. The foliage that bounds the flat grass is voracious and the color is a fierce green when the rain is right, intimidating and crowding out the sky. This Labor Day there is a change small enough that if we weren’t looking at it we would never notice. The leaves aren’t as thick. The Dancing Tree down by the ridge is not showing much motion displaying a hint of ecru and a little more sun lights the horizon as the leaves relax.

And the Hummingbirds. The books tell us they have about the highest metabolic rate of any creature, and to keep it all working they feed as often as every ten minutes. The view from the back deck where Melissa hung the feeders is spectacular. We think there are three couples doing the flying, which is quite dramatic in swooping, diving and buzzing through the courtship process.

They are no fools, and as a species, choose not to spend the winter months here at the farm. They fly the migratory pattern down to their more pleasant homes in Mexico and Panama divided by sex, the male Ruby-necks arriving and departing a week or so before the females. The accounts say these tiny ferocious-sounding birds have extraordinary memories. They are capable of revisiting the same flowers and feeders all along their 1,800-mile commute.

Anyway, the males seem to be gone and our ladies linger to entertain with precision flight and regular feeding sessions to prepare for their journey in a week or so. That is the same general pattern of life we followed in the Navy, so there is a certain Fall synergy that makes With everything else, the Hummingbird male birds have already departed/ The Farm itself feels like it might be getting ready to Get Underway, and given the possibilities for the global situation this winter, we would prefer to stay where we are.

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