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| A hummingbird preserved as decoration from the New York Historical Society's recent exhibition "Feathers: Fashion and the Fight for Wildlife." Credit: Adam Tschorn |
It is a
clear cool September day. It is the kind of day that heralds the iconic Vermont
foliage season. It is bookended by days
of late summer heat and humidity and a forecast of Indian summer heat to come.
It is the
kind of day that urges fall housecleaning, stacking wood, putting the garden to
bed. It has been said that September is
second only to the dawn of a new year in January as a “re-set” month. And that
is certainly true for me. Always a
casual housekeeper, I am armed with broom and vacuum cleaner, trash bags and
disinfectant cleaners. I am about to
tackle the long-neglected “shed way” that is the only easily accessible
entrance to my house, a double-doored 4x4 space that also houses my garden
tools, yard toys, a few decorative plants and the detritus of living in the
country. And its two little windows and
their sills – one on each side -- are the graveyard of ladybugs, a few furry
bumblebees, a curled-up spider and, it turns out, the carcass of an ill-fated hummingbird.
My breath
caught in a moment of sadness at this undeserved fate; caught between doors and
unable to escape this tiny gem perished with its tiny, pointed, thorn-like beak and iridescent green feathers
perfectly intact. Somehow I could not
leave it alone there. Nor could I throw
it away. I envisioned another use for
it. So I placed it in a tiny white Lord &
Taylor jewelry box, carefully wrapped in clean white tissue paper which I then
moved to the temporary funeral home of my deep, black leather purse.
Who would
give a last bit of love to this tiniest of nature’s marvels?
Most adults
who live in the country, familiar with ebb and flow of life and death as they are,
would certainly not be impressed -- or even very curious.
But
great-grandson, Carter, six years old and already very familiar with the toys
and curiosities of my shed way would probably like this … Maybe.
When I saw
him at our family’s country store shortly thereafter, I called him over to me, opened
my purse and pulled out the tiny box. His big blue eyes got even bigger and rounder
as I carefully unwrapped the tiny mummy with its luminous colors. His first reaction was sadness at this wee
death. Then he looked carefully at the
long beak and layers of feathers and took off across the ancient floor boards
of the store to find someone with whom to share his discovery. He was as excited about this treasure as the original
recipient of the piece of jewelry in the Lord & Taylor box must have
been. It was his gem.
After
exhausting the supply of customers and employees at the store, he cradled the
bird gently in his arms and announced his intention to take it to school to
share some more. Knowing the school, I
was sure this would be accepted and, perhaps, serve as the starting point for
an examination of the brief and stunning life of a hummingbird.
I was happy
that he liked this little not-from-Walmart gift. I was glad that he could be
sad but still see the beauty even in death.
Maybe that is an old person’s wish.
Maybe it is life in miniature.
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A lovely story. And a much more fitting end than for the poor feathered souls at the NYHS exhibition.
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