Hummingbird

This morning, standing in my backyard, talking on the phone, working my program, gathering plums, I was stunned by the sudden appearance of a tiny green hummingbird hovering over the flowers in our garden. Saying it was green doesn’t do its coat of feathers justice -- a coat of many colors (as Dolly Parton would say) – nor was I stunned by its simple appearance. I’ve seen humming birds here before, they are common, but never have a seen one land. This one did, twice, on the wire surrounding a tomato plant. Somewhere, I got the idea that hummingbirds never rest, that they always remain airborne. Maybe it’s that they never stop twirling their wings? I was so surprised to see the bird sit still for a moment, I forgot to notice if its wings also stopped moving. I just don’t know.

***

This is a time of great emotional turmoil, highs and lows. So many people I love have been showing up that my head is spinning. At times like this, it’s best to just accept an expanded definition of family.

“We are family.”

Today, the big news was the arrival of my first grandson, James. He is so alert, so curious, and so beautiful. Today, at my house, his other grandpa met him for the very first time. We both, his paternal and maternal grandfathers, agreed he is perfect. Earlier, I gave him an egg carton to chew on (he has two front bottom teeth coming in) and he definitely enjoyed the opportunity.

Later, I took little James out in my backyard and showed him our flowers, and the fruit trees, our hammock, and a few butterflies, and he seemed to appreciate the scene. I told him about the hummingbird, but this time only a bumblebee appeared, buzzing the apples. James eyed the plums but didn’t make a move on them.

***
Hours later, we were headed east on I-80, as the fog blanketed San Francisco’s 49-square-miles in our rear view mirror. We were headed to summer, where temperatures reach into three digits. When we got here, the sun was going down behind the trees and the hills that envelop this place. We sat on the balcony of this ancient hotel that dates from the Gold Rush and watched the main street come alive.

My companion expects she will see ghosts in this old place; the walls have many stories to tell. So far, she only saw a small cockroach. This isn’t one of those redeveloped, fancy hotels, but a semi-rundown establishment that looks its age, which is 155 years, just three years after fortune-seekers first poured into this area.

The hotel advertises that it is the oldest continuously operating hotel in California.

***









After one of the driest winters in recent times, the Sierra snow pack was way too small this winter to avoid very dry conditions this summer. We’ve already had major forest fires in the state, and the water districts have instituted voluntary water reduction programs and expensive public-education campaigns.

The water in the river that runs near this town was noticeably lower than on previous visits. I only glimpsed a few small fish swimming near the spot where we cooled our feet after a brutally hot mid-day hike. The rocky riverbed didn’t provide as many attractive swimming holes as usual, but lots of people were out nonetheless.

The path from where we parked to where we sat in the water passes through a lovely wood of Ponderosa and Yellow Pine, Manzanita, Mountain Misery, Poison Oak, and Bay Trees. Lizards scamper around the boulders lining the river; various birds soar overhead.

We carried two quarts of water and a jar of peanuts. Only one quart remained after an hour-and-a-half in that 100-degree white heat.

***

Whenever I’m out here in the foothills, the history just draws me in. The scars to the landscape from the giant mining operations still remain, as do rusting remnants of the small-time miners along the river’s edge. Here and there are historical markers, as well as a large number of Victorian style buildings.

These days, when a new building is erected around here, they use recycled bricks for its exterior, and the design closely follows the simplicity of the functional warehouse buildings that still dot the city landscape.

This is a place where artists, writers, hippies, and tourists congregate. At night on the weekend, everyone gathers in the town’s saloons and the party begins.

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