By Sara Wright

​A few months ago, Carol sent me a picture that Brian took of a bird’s nest in one of the canyons. I recognized the nest immediately as one that belonged to the Great Horned Owl.

I told Carol then that I could write a story about that photo, and here I am.

Finally!

Living in Abiquiu was one of the most powerful experiences of my life, and great horned owls were an intrinsic part of that story.

A few days after moving to Abiquiu in 2016, I had placed my dove Lily b in a cage on the little porch outside my bedroom door. Imagine my shock when I looked out one evening and saw a great horned owl wandering around on the stones near the cage. Transfixed by the sight of seeing a giant meandering owl and a motionless Lily b peering down at a potential nemesis from his perch, obviously unperturbed (we read each other’s minds), was nothing short of amazing, so a couple of seconds passed before I scared the bird away.

I wasn’t worried because my dove’s cage was constructed out of thick metal hardware cloth and had a plywood roof- a sturdy roost that had been built for him so he could stay out at night. Black bears and hawks of all kinds never bothered him in Maine, so I assumed nothing could get to him here.
This naivete and stupidity on my part almost cost Lily b his life.

I left the cage outdoors because Lily b loved to sit in the rain, and even if I pulled the plywood back during a rainstorm, the mesh still protected him, and the second solid roof went back on at night.

One morning, I was awakened to a frightening, harsh croak my dove had never made before. Rushing out the door, I found my terrorized bird badly mangled and bleeding, numb with glazed eyes, suffering intensely from a deep gash that ran from his eye through his breast. Unhinged, I literally couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Kindly neighbors rushed us to a vet who said she was not certain she could save his life. It took my bird almost three months to recover. The deep wound had severed his vocal cords so he never cooed his most beautiful song again, but he lived and that was what mattered.

Who else but a night owl with powerful talons could have attacked him? I surmised that the g/horned owl must have come back, terrorized him, and once Lily b was on the floor of the cage – probably dazed/ or knocked out – the owl struck at him through the bottom 2-inch opening, a place where a tray was situated. I’ll never know.

So began our lives in Abiquiu. What is strange is that two weeks before leaving Maine, Lily b and a great horned owl conversed back and forth for three nights in a row (my dove was in the house). This conversation, although melodious, really disturbed me for reasons I didn’t understand, except that it seemed so abnormal. Normally, lily b became a rigid statue on his indoor perch whenever these owls hooted from anywhere, and they have such varied calls. Great horned owls are common in these forests around my house in Maine, and Lily had never spoken to one before.

Back to my story.

After we moved down to the river, great horned owls followed us, often perching on the roof or hooting from nearby branches at night.

Every morning when I walked to the river before dawn, I met a great horned owl who perched in one cottonwood over my head. I dissected owl pellets and sought these owls out in the canyon closest to the casita. Fascinated. Some days, a great horned owl could be seen sitting on a ledge on the edge of the stick nest in a craggy corner of that canyon or others. Occasionally, I would glimpse an owlet or two in canyon crags. For four years, I lived with owls of all kinds, but the great horned owl was the one I heard every night.


Great horned owls are in the genus Bubo. All other species are found throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. Great horned owls can be found living in most states throughout Canada and Alaska, the US, Central, and South America.

They are large, impressive, robust birds with two prominent feathered tufts on their heads that look like ears but aren’t. Ears are unevenly placed below the tufts for acute hearing, but for me it was always those eerie glowing yellow eyes that captivated me the most (even before daylight, they were visible)…those eyes and their fierce expressions. Their pupils open widely in the dark, and retinas contain many rod cells for excellent night vision. Their eyes don’t move in their sockets, but they can swivel their heads more than 180 degrees to look in any direction. The owl’s sensitive hearing is thanks in part to their facial disc feathers that direct sound waves to their ears.

Great horned owls are nocturnal, but as my experience demonstrates, it is possible to see them long before twilight or dawn. I sometimes spied one flying across the field with large curved wings. Their calls are beautiful, a deep resonant series of whoos. Curiously, ‘the hoot of the owl’ is one of the Tewa meanings of the word Abiquiu.

Although I heard other owls call during my four years in Abiquiu, none vocalized regularly, maybe because the others chose not to voice their opinions around such a fierce character that predated on smaller owls as well as most other wildlife. They can take down animals and birds even larger than they are, but they also love mice and other tasty rodents. Here in Maine, they predate on loons, geese, and ducks.

Finding pellets and pulling them apart is a fascinating hobby I engaged in routinely, trying to figure out just who happened to be the unlucky prey.
Great horned owl coloring varies from gray-brown to a sooty gray. In Maine and New Mexico, the ones I met all looked the same with reddish patches on their faces and white at the throat. Both sexes look identical, but the female is larger.
They live just about anywhere. Around Maine, they are common in the forests, but their habitat can vary from deserts, canyons, swamps, fields, to parks!

Great horned owls are particularly common in New Mexico. Breeding season begins in early spring. They are supposed to take over the nests of other birds, and I have no way of knowing who constructed the original stick cavities that were tucked into the cliff edges in the canyons near me, because the nests I found looked similar to the one Brian photographed.

When clenched, a great horned owl’s talons require a force of 28 pounds to open. That grip can sever the spine.

Another advantage of being such an excellent predator is a long life span – twenty years or more.

My guess is that climate change will not decimate this owl, whose populations remain more than stable. How refreshing.

After returning home from Abiquiu Lily b has not had any experience with great horned owls. Occasionally, I hear one calling from out my bedroom window, but his roost is on the other side of the house. When the Boreal owl visited this winter, Lily watched him from his indoor perch, so apparently small owls don’t bother him.

One final comment. When I was in my late forties, I had a very compelling dream. I was looking at an owl who had a large crystal on her head. The feeling tone was one of beneficence. Owls are often associated with prophecy, especially great horned owls, who can also be omens of a coming death/ disaster, etc, according to many Indigenous traditions.

Although it wasn’t a great horned owl, this dream still made me feel uncomfortable, and it has stuck with me all these years.

At about the same time, I spent a weekend in Maine with a Navajo Medicine Woman who made a point of keeping her distance from me. I was baffled and hurt. Finally, I asked her what it was about me that she disliked. She told me that I had Owl Medicine, and for the Navajo, this bird spoke to her of coming death. I lost four family members in the space of less than two years.

Republished from 3/19
By Sara Wright​

I have developed a fascination and a deep respect for the Great Tailed Grackle as a result of making regular visits to Walmart. I began feeding these birds bread crumbs this winter because I like them so much and because I wanted to observe these clever characters hopping about dodging automobiles and people who apparently don’t have much use for them. Some always hang out on the roof with the fake owls that were put there to scare them.
 
I wonder how many people have actually looked at the Great Tailed Grackle because both sexes are quite stunning. The male is glossy black with an ecclesiastical purple iridescence. He has a long, keel-shaped tail, massive bill and yellow eyes. The female is about half the size of the male and looks as if she’s been dipped in brown oil; she has a smaller keel shaped tail. The visual characteristic that stands out the most to me is the brilliance of those bright yellow eyes. These birds radiate intelligence!

And, in fact, studies that have been done on these birds reveal that they are adept at problem solving (even from a human point of view).

For example, the Grackles problem-solving power was tested by posing glass cylinders full of water with bits of food floating just outside the birds reach. To grab the morsels, the birds had to drop in pebbles to raise the water levels. After a number of trials most of the Grackles figured out that dropping pebbles into the water raised the water level so they could feed. They also learned that it was usually more efficient to use heavy pebbles to reach the snack, but if provided with too large stones the birds turned back to small pebbles to reach their goal.

Another test done had even more dramatic results. Silver and gold tubes of food were presented to the grackles but only the gold tubes had peanuts and bread in them. The Grackles immediately chose the gold tubes, but when the food was placed in silver tubes the birds instantly chose them. These tests reveal not only problem solving ability but also the birds’ flexibility in terms of learning.

Its important to note that Grackles outperformed three species in the crow family (Corvids).
This desert-adapted bird doesn’t need much beyond food, trees, water, and its own wits for survival. Once confined to Central America, the species began moving north 200 years ago, and now covers an immense region from northwestern Venezuela up to southern Canada. In 1900, the northern limits of its range barely extended into Texas; by the end of the century it had nested in at least 14 states and was reported in 21 states and 3 Canadian provinces. This explosive growth occurred mainly after 1960 and coincided with human-induced habitat changes such as irrigation and urbanization.

Where people have gone, Great-tailed Grackles have followed: you can find them in both agricultural and urban settings from sea level to 7,500 feet that provide open foraging areas, a water source, and trees or hedgerows. In rural areas, look for grackles pecking for seeds in feedlots, farmyards, and newly planted fields, and following tractors to feed on flying insects and exposed worms. In town, grackles forage in parks, neighborhood lawns, and at dumps. More natural habitats include chaparral and second-growth forest.

Great-tailed Grackles are loud, social birds that can form flocks numbering in the tens of thousands. Each morning small groups disperse to feed in open fields and urban areas, often foraging with cowbirds and other blackbirds, then return to roosting sites at dusk. This evening routine includes a nonstop cacophony of whistles, squeals, and rattles as birds settle in for the night.

As near as I can tell Grackles forage almost anywhere and will eat almost anything. What this says to me is that these kinds of birds have learned to co – habit with humans in very ingenious ways that must include being able to deal with pesticides.

During the last month (March) I have noted that there are fewer Grackles hanging around the parking lot. One reason for this absence may be that during the day some birds are moving into more rural areas to feed. In addition to country foraging and prior to actual nesting, both males and females begin to collect material for the nest site about four weeks before actual breeding begins in April.

Nesting occurs in colonies of a few to thousands, with the nests often placed close together. The actual nest construction is done after this period of “gathering,” which although not mentioned in any of the sources I consulted, must be related to the mating process.  The females choose the nest site, and often “borrow” nest-building materials from other females. The nest is made of grass, twigs, reeds, and mud and is woven by the female in about 5 days in a tree, shrub, or hidden in marshland vegetation placed anywhere from 3 to 30 feet off the ground or water. Nest size varies from four inches across to 13 inches deep.

The female will lay 4 to 7 eggs that are pale greenish brown with blotches. The young are ready to fledge in a month. Mother is responsible for brooding and feeding. During this period some male Grackles may guard the nest while the female forages. In contrast some others may pair with a second female during this time leaving the female to manage on her own.

Curiously, fewer male than female nestlings survive. Adult male survival may also be lower than adult female survival, which would result in a female-biased adult sex ratio.

Although there is considerable overlap in the distribution of the three species, the Common Grackle occurs throughout the eastern United States and Canada, the Great-tailed Grackle is found in the Midwest and south/western United States, and the Boat-tailed Grackle is confined to Florida and coastal areas of the Gulf states and the eastern United States.

The Grackle is protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, which as far as I can tell, means practically nothing. People routinely haze, shoot, or use pesticides to eliminate these birds but their numbers continue to increase. In this time of great uncertainty due to Climate Change and continued overuse of lethal pesticides I can’t help but feel reassured that some non – human species will survive, and whenever I spend time with the Walmart birds I feel flickers of hope rising. I am already looking forward to seeing the Great Tailed Grackles once again flooding the Walmart parking in Espanola by the middle of May.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. I entered the garden focused on photographing flowers, so I was totally unprepared to see the monarch fluttering around helplessly almost hitting the cement as it attempted to recover its ability to become airborne. Instinctively, I turned away before I realized that what I had just witnessed was the trauma that this butterfly was experiencing after just having been tagged.

 This organization’s hope was that some guide or kid in Mexico would find the tagged DEAD body of this monarch somewhere on the ground after the butterfly completed its journey from Maine to its winter stopover in Mexico.

I found this perspective bizarre because finding a dead monarch means that the butterfly will not winter over to finish his/her reproductive journey north in the spring. Not a success story for the monarch. What possible agenda lies behind these tagging operations that brag about monarchs that die in their wintering grounds is a mystery to me.

That the tagged butterfly I witnessed was suffering from distress was painfully obvious even as I heard the tagging woman say “get another, this one wasn’t graceful enough”.  

Did I mention that the sequence was being filmed by one of the major television networks?

Take two.

I buried myself in the flowers, but my heart was pounding, and I was distracted, and this is how I managed to clash with butterfly tagging practices for a second time. I ran into a man with a stiff nylon net who was in the process of capturing another victim in its depths. Though he turned away I knew exactly what was happening having witnessed what occurs when a butterfly is caught in this manner. The insect becomes frantic. After being pursued and trapped the butterfly was now moments away from tagging distress. I glanced at the hapless creature pinned down by the wings. Groaning involuntarily, I sensed the trauma the poor butterfly was experiencing, and quickly exited the garden. Done for the day.

Although I was a member of this conservation organization this naturalist/ethologist couldn’t sanction a practice which even encouraged and included allowing children to tag. Didn’t anyone think about how the butterfly might experience this practice?

After expressing my opinion to those in charge, I deliberately avoided witnessing Monarch capture and tagging. This year only one monarch was tagged at the summer festival, or so I was told while I was busy volunteering at the bird table in mid – August. A few nylon bagged caterpillars were munching on a nearby milkweed clump. That day while participating in a bird walk on my break, I saw one monarch in the field.

When I returned to the garden about ten days later to check on the flowers (I love the pollinator garden), I was happy to see and photograph bees and wasps and the few monarchs that were fluttering around the Mexican Sunflowers. This time the caterpillars were gone, and a few chrysalises were zipped into the nylon bags to protect the inhabitants from parasites until eventual emergence, or death. I knew from personal experience that OE (disease) was only one of the problems and that some chrysalises would not hatch anyway. Hopefully the few that did would not hatch during a time when no one was present to release the butterfly before it damaged its wings.

Only about 10 percent of these insects make it to adulthood. I was also keenly aware that the monarch count had plummeted 22 percent just since last year. Depending on the source consulted 90 – 97 percent of these butterflies are missing in action; the species is approaching extinction despite laudable attempts to ‘save’ it.

The word extinction requires explanation. This is a process that occurs over an unspecified period, but once the existing population has declined beyond a certain point the dye has been cast. Sources vary but most agree that once 75 percent of the population has vanished, extinction is imminent.

Because I am a naturalist and aware of what is happening overall, I choose to focus my attention on letting nature choose how much milkweed to grow in my wildflower field and appreciating the monarchs I find in all stages of their lives while we still have them.

Spend some time watching a caterpillar eat through a milkweed leaf, turn himself into a ‘J’ to pupate. Look carefully at the exquisite chrysalis tipped in gold leaf; watch it darken and become translucent as the butterfly prepares to split the capsule. Sit with the emerging butterfly as her wings dry and she prepares for first flight. Last year I was present when the monarch I had been watching began pumping fluid into her wings and then fluttering and flapping them before sailing away into a cobalt blue sky… Nature’s Grace. I won’t forget.

Yesterday when I visited the garden to take pictures of flowers it never occurred to me that monarchs were going to be tagged while I was there, or that I would be unfortunate enough to witness the process by accident. Of course, they were being tagged because this is what this organization does, I realized on my way home. These are the monarchs that will be making the 2000-mile migration to Mexico. I was upset with myself. How naïve, how stupid I was not to make the connection between the time of year and tagging but then I realized that because I had taken every precaution not to be present for any part of this process and thus far had been successful why would it have occurred to me at all?  

Today I learned that everyone is invited to witness butterfly tagging twice a week during the month of September. Efforts to publicize the ‘rightness’ of tagging are being stepped up.

Several people agreed with my assessment, namely that tagging creates trauma for the insect – and the idea that this practice may interfere with the butterfly’s ability to survive the 2000-mile journey, winter over successfully and then fly north to reproduce in the spring.

To my knowledge no one else had openly expressed their personal views to those in charge of the organization. However, some folks have come to talk with me. Most of us know that trauma weakens any organism’s immune system making it more vulnerable.

I also have friends who are biologists or scientists who agree that we have no way of knowing how tagging effects the butterfly or its ability to migrate successfully, and that even a small tag can create an imbalance in flight.

The underlying assumption (now hardened into ‘truth’) is that attaching an object to the hind wing of a butterfly that weighs less than half a gram with a tag that weighs 02 percent of the butterfly’s weight is placed close enough to the butterfly’s center so as not to disrupt flight. What I had just witnessed suggested otherwise.

When tagging began in 1992 scientists wanted to gain more insight monarch migration and decline. Monarchs caught the public’s attention, becoming a cultural icon for ‘save the species’ groups.  Monarch Watch and Xerces (there are many others) began their research. Data accumulated as hypotheses came and went. Thirty plus years later we have masses of detailed information, but we have failed to stop the monarch’s steep decline.

As previously stated, the monarchs who hatch in September are the ones that make the long arduous journey to the central mountains of Mexico. The obvious threats of habitat loss – our disappearing forests, grasslands, clean water and air, the continued use of pesticides/herbicides, poisoned waters are compounded by the extremes that are being brought on by our changing climate. In Maine this tropical summer of floods and fog has given us a taste of what’s to come. In southern climates it’s fires and intolerable heat.

 I do appreciate one aspect of this long -term research project.  It has alerted some people to the plight of a disappearing butterfly and hopefully that will lead to folks seeing the ‘bigger picture’. We desperately need humans to comprehend the enormity of our earth crisis and how it is affecting what’s left of our wildlife, not to mention ourselves. Many people who have lawns are exchanging them for wildflower and pollinator gardens. These actions may assist other species to survive but unfortunately, I think it is too late for the monarchs.

While engaged in my research last year I learned from one reputable source that handling a butterfly removes butterfly powder. The loss of this precious wing ‘dust’ protects the butterfly from aerial predation.

Other researchers are quick to point out that they have learned a lot about the flyways the monarchs use, the problems associated with raising captive monarchs, diseases that affect the species, the fact that migratory behavior is remarkably sensitive to genetic and environmental changes, that even brief exposure to unnatural conditions even late in development may be enough to disrupt flight orientation (like bagging?).

Compiling data gained from gathering and quantifying information seems to be more about what humans want to learn about these insects in general than caring about the lives of actual butterflies.

From my point of view butterfly survival also requires asking what it means when a tagged monarch experiences trauma and then is found dead before it has completed its life cycle. Of course, there are a host of possibilities, but I find it disturbing that not one academic source addresses this issue.

I do not speak Monarch but as an ethologist (a person who studies animal behavior in the wild) I certainly pay close attention to behavior and butterfly tagging does creates trauma for the insect; that much is obvious. Why no one mentions tagging as another reason our monarchs may be in steep decline is an important question that deserves attention.

Western science is supposed to be value free which of course is an illusion. However, the necessity of appearing to remain value free forces those who believe that a butterfly has feelings is dismissed as a person who is anthropomorphizing. Attributing trees and plants, animals, birds, frogs, lizards, and insects with feelings is projecting human qualities onto animals according to this way of thinking.  In conservative science, the old story, non- human beings don’t experience feelings of pain etc. have personal relationships or live lives that may or may not intersect with those of humans, let alone communicate with other species.  

If an academic or person like me is radical enough to disagree with this perspective severe criticism and ostracizing, follow.

Conservative western science refuses to acknowledge that the new sciences tell us a very different story, one in which all nature is alive and sentient. In this scenario trees, animals, birds, insects etc. experience fear and other emotions that are unique to each species but share a commonality with humans because we are all part of the  same whole. Anyone who has ever had a personal relationship with an animal or plant knows this whether s/he admits this or not
 Advocating for sentience originally developed out of my naturalist’s life experiences; research came later. I pay close attention to any encounters with non -human beings and draw conclusions from actual encounters as I did with the monarch (even when those conclusions conflict with prevailing theories or popular beliefs).

That human caught butterflies feel fright and anxiety is obvious to anyone who pays attention. The bottom line is that when it comes to tagging butterflies, we do not know what the consequences are.

Is it worth repeating that the tagged monarchs recovered in the mountains of central Mexico are all dead and their natural life cycle has been disrupted permanently?
Tagging creates trauma and stress that may be one more reason the monarch butterfly is in steep decline.
 
Postscript:
 
Andy Davis of Monarchscinece.org is a research scientist at the School of Ecology in the University of Georgia. Andy has been studying monarchs, especially their amazing migration since 1997, and is the editor-in-chief of a scientific journal devoted specifically to animal migration. Andy is the author or coauthor of 35+ scientific studies on monarch biology.
 
Andy has this to say about tagging:
 “We already know that the stressors monarchs face during migration are immense - like cars, loss of nectar, storms, etc. What if the weight of the tags, even if it is incredibly minor, is causing monarchs to burn slightly more energy during flight every day, so that they arrive in Mexico with not quite enough fat to survive the winter. Or, maybe the minor weight of the tag causes the monarchs to not flap as efficiently as it would have normally. Or, maybe the tags are leading to slightly, but chronically-elevated metabolic rates. Or, for all we know, there is a behavioral issue at play here - maybe the white tags cause the tagged monarchs to be shunned by their untagged friends, and the tagged monarchs are then prevented from joining the rest of the monarchs in the safe tree clusters. Who knows? The point is, we really don't have any data on the effect of tags to monarch physiology, flight mechanics, or behavior to say anything about this, but, given this new evidence (about increasing mortality at the winter sites), maybe it’s time for scientists to take up this issue”.
 
Andy Davis is a research scientist at the Odum School of Ecology in the University of Georgia. Andy has been studying monarchs, especially their amazing migration since 1997, and is the editor-in-chief of a scientific journal devoted specifically to animal migration. Andy is the author or coauthor of 35+ scientific studies on monarch biology.

This morning I watched aghast as Mr. Rufous hit the window and fell to the ground. Rushing out to give him sugar water, I was so relieved to see him recover his wits and fly towards his cottonwood bower on his own. A very close call.
 
Rufous, an iridescent coppery jewel arrived here on June 22 and his mate – just as beautiful in her less dramatic emerald and rust attire, came with him. My other resident hummingbirds (black chin, and broadtail) all seemed to be cooperating as they visited my two feeders. I wondered how Rufous and his wife would fit in so I have been keeping a sharp eye on hummingbird cooperation dynamics. Five weeks have gone by since their arrival, and this couple is staying to raise a family.
 
It is true that this pugnacious little hummingbird can throw a wrench into cooperation but I have been pleasantly surprised to see this male and female sipping nectar with other birds sitting on neighboring perches. Could it be that the broadtail and black chin social dynamic has rubbed off on Mr. and Mrs. Rufous? I have no way of knowing but it does seem that they are more willing to compromise than most others I have known. Some days, of course, Mr. Rufous hovers above the feeders and making sudden aggressive dives scaring the others away with his high pitched squeaks and buzzing - but only for a few moments. Usually he lets the others return to share quite companionably. Mrs. Rufous seems very cooperative and she has taken to visiting the nastursiums, scarlet runner beans, fiery salvia, deep rose and scarlet penstemon and the pot that holds my bee, butterfly, and hummingbird friendly wildflower mixture that Iren gave me last spring.
 
Apparently, the territories that the male and female rufous hummingbirds “defend” are somewhat different. Males hover over the primary food source(s) while the females extend their ranges further afield choosing less dense wildflower meadows. But this year, except for my little pot garden there are few wildflowers beyond the fence where I do not water, so choices, at least here, are limited. And Mrs. Rufous does not hog these flowers.
 
Rufous hummingbirds are small with a short tail with mighty flight skills that allow them to travel 2000 miles from Mexico to as far north as Alaska for breeding in the western states. This migration can take place from as early as May to August in New Mexico, and some stop along the way to raise their families. They follow the wildflower season throughout the rocky mountain area. During their long migrations, they make a clockwise circuit of western North America each year moving up the Pacific Coast in late winter and spring, reaching Washington and British Columbia by May. As early as July they may start south again, traveling down the chain of the Rocky Mountains.

The adult male has a slender bill, white breast, a rusty face, flanks and tail with a startlingly beautiful orange-red throat patch or gorget. Some males have some green on back and/or crown. The female has green, white, some iridescent orange and a dark tail with white tips. The female is slightly larger than the male and has longer wings.

As many of us know they feed on nectar from flowers using a long extendable tongue or capture insects on the wing. These birds require frequent feeding while active during the day and go into a state of torpor at night to conserve energy. Because of their small size, they are vulnerable to insect-eating birds and animals.
​
Most breeding habitats are open areas, mountainsides and forest edges in western North America and the Pacific Northwest. The female builds a nest in a tree or shrub and raises her brood of two chicks alone. The offspring are ready for flight in about three weeks.
 
Surveys show continuing declines in rufous numbers during recent decades. Because they rely on finding the right conditions in so many different habitats at just the right seasons during the year, this hummingbird is especially vulnerable to the effects of climate change.
 
These iridescent "flower birds," were considered gifts from the gods by Indigenous peoples. In Peru and other South American countries, naturalists have cataloged over three hundred species, and it is believed that not all have been discovered yet.

The rain forests of South America were probably where hummingbirds first evolved (co-evolved) with flowers.

I like to imagine that hummingbirds once sipped the life-giving nectar, leaving behind a pollinated forest before flying away, their burnished colors shimmering in a primal world of sunlight…