Hey, you. Did I ever tell you that I have an affinity for birds? This is a fairly recent discovery, only in the last couple of years, i’d say. Friends have asked me if it’s because they fly? I have a fear of flying, so it’s not the actual flying that speaks to me, (the idea of heights gives me heart palpitations), it’s more that they have the ability to. They can be at the lowest point and suddenly take flight; there’s such beautiful freedom in that. Anyhoo, I was listening to the Mel Robbins Podcast yesterday, and she was retelling a story about an encounter she and her husband had with an owl. The story made me think about my own encounter with a bird and why it stays nestled inside my heart.
One chilly evening I was grabbing something out of our garage, when I noticed something on the strip of putting green we have right inside (yeah, you heard me…putting green as in my husband, Peter, is a golfer. I know what you’re thinking, “how could I marry such a man?” Well, I was already in love with him by the time I found out about his love for golf. Sigh. But he loves football, basketball and soccer so he’s not all bad). I thought this greenish thing blending in was a locust and almost ran out of the garage as if a biblical plague had been cast on my family. I have a bit of an insect phobia too, and by “bit” I mean full on, (though a retreat I went on in 2021 helped to desensitize me to some degree. Thanks, Guatemala!). Upon closer inspection I realized it was a hummingbird. There it was just sitting there, not moving, frozen in time. My initial thought was that it was dead. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. My heart ached a little. I got even closer and realized the bird was still breathing. I was perplexed. Its eyes were closed but it wasn’t moving at all. I gently tried to move it and its tiny head moved from side to side as if to say, “Hello? Is someone there?” (said in the most cutest voice ever).
I went inside and told Peter what I had discovered. He was confused as I was. Was the little guy hurt? Did something happen to him? Then, I randomly remembered watching a nature show where they highlighted birds going into this sort of hibernated stupor. I took to the internet and discovered it’s called Torpor. I started texting neighbors to see what could be done. I got some mixed advice. The consensus was that no one really had experience with this and that most likely it was hurt or ill, wouldn’t survive and we would have to let nature take its course and dispose of our feathered guest in the morning. But nature didn’t choose for this to happen to Roger in the wild, (I named him/her Roger, by the way), this happened in my garage, which to me meant nature chose nurture. So I did more research. I collected a cardboard box, a towel and a heater we use for my self-tape auditions in the garage during the winter. I carefully put the towel close to Roger and propped the box just to try and insulate what heat Roger had. I turned the heater towards him but not close enough to harm him. I said kind words to him and checked on him throughout the night. At some point I knew it wasn’t wise to leave a heater on unattended all night so I turned it off before I crawled into bed. I made my peace with the idea that if Roger didn’t survive the night, at least his soul was held before he left our strange world.
In the morning, I saw my daughter head to the garage and I immediately informed her about Roger. We went out to check on him, and he was still alive! My heart was elated but I couldn’t focus on Roger at that moment. We were in the typical throws of, making school lunches, getting dressed, rushing around trying to get out the door for school drop-off. The whole car ride I kept thinking about Roger. Peter was working that day which meant I was the only one available to figure out how to help Roger get back on his anisodactyl feet.
SoCal weather is pretty mild, but during that week we were in a chillier weather pattern, except that day. The highs were going to reach in the lower 70’s and the sun was going to be out. After dropping my kids off, I went into complete mom mode. I opened my garage door, turned on the heater and started making some sugar water. I knew I had to get Roger into the sun. I carefully managed to get him onto the box I had propped up around him. Every now and then his tiny head would swivel back and forth as if to say, “Mom, is that you?” er…I mean, “Hello, friend. Is that you?” At first I put the sugar water in a shallow porcelain dish and held it under his little beak. Nothing happened. I went inside and let him bask in the sun for a bit while I figured out how to get sugar water down his minuscule throat. I found an unused medicine dropper that comes with kids medication, filled it with sugar water and like a surgeon, carefully dripped drops on Roger’s beak. Nothing happened. I went back inside my house, set a timer for 15 minutes and waited. When I went back outside to dribble fabricated nectar all over Roger, my eyes watered a bit. Roger had turned himself in a different direction. He had moved! His eyes were still closed and he was still sort of frozen, but he had turned himself. I took the dropper over, dripped some drops onto his beak and he tilted his head up and swallowed slightly. Operation, “Bring Roger back” was working! I put the dish back up to his beak and he began to take sips. His body was beginning to twitch even. I went back inside, set a timer and waited. Ding! The timer went off and I bolted out the door. I used the dropper method one more time and Roger suddenly opened his eyes.
I wish I could say it was a moment of clarity where Roger and I silently took each other in and acknowledged the exchange. Instead, Roger looked at me like, “What the hell! Who are you, lady?” as he started to flap his wings. I got elated and shouted, “Roger! You opened your eyes. You’re flapping your wings. You’re doing it!” He promptly lifted off the ground in a drunken manner and hopped into the tree next to my garage. I poured a little sugar water onto a crevice near him in the tree, but Roger flew up higher. Since we have a Hummingbird feeder hanging from that tree, I felt okay that he had access to a food source. I watched him go up a little higher and then I walked away. I cleaned up my makeshift animal ER and went back inside.
We have two Hummingbird feeders around our house. I have no idea of Roger is among the Hummingbirds we see suckling from those little plastic flowers. He could be. He could have also turned to a life of crime and now lives a life drunk on fermented fruit. What Roger is doing or did do with his life after he left me is no longer my concern. Most likely, Roger got into our garage and no one saw him. We shut the door, the temperature dropped and to preserve energy, he put himself into torpor, which means he probably would have woken up all by himself and gone about his business.
Like the Hummingbird, I too am small. Many times I have experienced being so overwhelmed by life’s “winter,” that I have shutdown. I have stood in place looking for an inkling of warmth to get me moving again. I am lucky. My family and friends are always the nectar I need to open my eyes, shake away the cold and flap my tiny wings as fast as I can. Because the power in that movement creates great speed and agility to take flight so effortlessly.; it brings stamina. It brings possibility of me living another day to enjoy another adventure.
**Everything I write comes from my personal insights and has all the drippings of my opinions, biases, and what-nots. Rather than come for me with facts or judgements to contradict my said opinions, biases and what-nots, I’d rather you find a different blog that makes you happy. If you find these posts therapeutic or helpful in anyway that means we connected and it’s all I can ask for, however I’m not a therapist nor a coach. I’m just a writer floating words out there hoping they find the person they are intended for.