Firsts & Lasts

It’s a quiet Sunday morning. I hear the hum of cars along I-495 though less than a typical rush hour morning. I arrived too late for the church bells announcing 7:00 mass at St. Helena’s. I settle in with coffee and rosary beads. I quiet Ivy as she barks at passing squirrels and rogue cats.

I observe my neighbor’s tulip poplar, filled with yellowing leaves, as it leans heavily toward another neighbor’s house. The back drive is carpeted in the leaves already fallen. I wrap myself in a throw blanket knowing soon I will be wearing coats out here.

Fall contains both beginnings and endings, firsts and lasts. It is particularly true as I watch for the hummingbirds. I saw the first one at my feeder on July 24. Since then, there have been regular visits. I learned only today that males do not show their ruby throats until after the first molt, so the ones I thought were female might well have been young males. I could distinguish between two of them as one would sit on the edge of the feeder and eat slowly and methodically; the other flapped its wings, remaining airborne, slowing only to stick its beak in the hole to gather nectar.

It’s been close to two days since I’ve seen either of them. My neighbor saw a large one yesterday near the white flowers of a blooming bush at the back drive, but my feeder remains empty. I wonder if the two that frequented my feeder all summer have begun their fall migration. I tried to note the last time I saw one. I wanted to write it down, but I didn’t. I expected to see it the next day, but I didn’t. It’s the same with the catbirds. Soon they will be gone, and I will see the first junco.

As my mother aged, I saved the birthday card she sent each year in case it was the last one. I still have that one from April 21, 2022. There is a children’s book that depicts a mother telling her children that if she new it would be the last time, she would have held them longer. When did I stop holding my children’s hands? When did they say, I’m old enough to go alone? And, now I think of that with my grandchildren. I asked the nine-year-old recently if he was too old to sit on my lap. He said yes, and we laughed. But, inside…

I will wait around a bit longer today for my hummingbirds. If they have left, I will think of their long journey. I will welcome others who are passing through from points further north. I will continue to change the nectar until there are no more sightings. I will watch the poplar bury the drive in its leaves. And, soon, I will welcome back the juncos.