Peg has an almost pathological approach/avoidance psychosis with the date of April 15. Together we experience each year’s stride, step, stumble and eventual exhausted final shoulder bruising penance of shoving the burden of our tax obligation up to Mount Olympus, that is, Washington D.C. On the other hand, Peg each year becomes teenage girl giddy as the traditional return of the hummingbirds to the feeders she sterilizes and fills with sugar water. No wonder the little woman-made diabetics buzz in and out in a frenzy of laser like attacks. You see, Peg is convinced “her” hummingbirds spend from November to April 15 watching the calendar and calculating when she will hang out the syrupy nectar. This year Peg exceeded all avian expectations, but, the first zooming scout did not come until April 17.
Each year is the same. About April Fool’s Day Peg begins fretting she has somehow offended the Patron Saint Francis of Assisi and “her” hummingbirds will abandon her numerous feeding stations and soar right over us in search of sweeter pastures. I told Peg that failsafe source, the Internet, also names Switzerland’s St. Gallen (St. Gall), or the disputed Saint Milburga, an English nun, or perhaps the Russian Saint Tryphon Medallion were the patron saints of birds. But Peg said since she and I had been to Assisi and visited the Saint’s tomb, she was pretty sure she should address any complaints about hummingbirds to him.
Anyway, apparently none of the saints have been offended by my destruction of several bird nests built under the eaves of our cabin and bunkhouse. Well, they may have gently punished Peg for my indiscretions by making her wait until two days after Tax Day for the birdlike epiphany.
However, now all is well and Peg is convinced the hummingbirds actually know our address and plan their entire yearly migration from South America or Mexico to our front veranda to besot themselves on Peg’s sugary slurry. It’s okay with me if she wants to believe it, but I am just glad to see the smiles return to her face as the small kamikazes jockey for position at her feeders. They certainly are aggressive little creatures. They remind me of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels and the gigantic King of the Brobdingnags who is appalled by the vicious nature of tiny humans who invented canon and gun powder instead of seeking peaceful solutions to sharing resources.
Be that as it may, while I view the birds’ infighting over Peg’s largess as off putting, Peg sees everything they do as adorable. Each year we agree to disagree as to the true nature of the hummingbirds. You will note, Gentle Reader, the feeders still go out every April.
