By Austin Hagwood
One morning a single hummingbird, iridescent green, tapped its sword-like beak against the windows of a Forest Service lookout tower 8,000 feet above sea level. I was stationed there for a four-month fire season, perched on a peak overlooking Idaho and Montana, and planned to spend the summer in solitude.
Until the hummingbird showed up. During my first week in the tower, glacier lilies opened their pale petals, and a feathered dart flew past my nose and hovered before each flower. I assumed my visitor was lost, but the next day, there it was again. Thick snowflakes fell like woodchips whittled from clouds, yet the bird was undeterred.
A few days later, I drove 40 miles to town and bought a red plastic feeder. Is it possible for someone to occupy wild places without disrupting their long-established rhythms? Via Internet, I learned my visitor was male, and his heart beat 1,200 times per mid-flight minute. Clearly, he was working harder than I was.
When the feeder was full, he ripped through the air, nosed into every plastic flower, then settled on the ledge and sipped. But like most treasure troves, this one attracted attention. Another hummingbird appeared. Then another. Within a week, a dozen green comets swarmed the lookout. They dueled, fenced, sparred, each male’s beak like a lance in aerial joust.
When flowers dotted the meadow, I removed the feeder. And though I no longer kept an aviary, neither was I alone.
Austin Hagwood is a writer and fly-fishing guide based in Missoula, MT. A former fire lookout and National Geographic Explorer, he received his MFA from the University of Montana, and his work has appeared in Appalachia, Notre Dame Magazine, The Drake, and the National Geographic online newsroom.
Image by Ramona Edwards courtesy of Unsplash
Beautiful. Thank you for the snowflakes, an image I will always remember. And for the trip with you…birds, Springtime transition and all.
Tangible sensory; gorgeous prose; story ride paced with the hummingbird! Thank you!
Thank you for a magical piece and the wisdom you displayed in your work – ‘Thick snowflakes fell like woodchips whittled from clouds’ , ‘Is it possible for someone to occupy wild places without disrupting their long-established rhythms?’ These phrases will stay with me.
Beautiful imagery. A feathered dart flew past my nose and hovered before each flower. Thank you.
Gorgeous writing and imagery. A beautiful way to start a rainy day!
Thank you for this, Austin. I find that few micros are about nature–I mean real nature writing. I am always looking for one that I can use for teaching. Your micro is perfect. (Have you ever read Brian Doyle’s short essay on the hummingbird?)
Austin, your piece is lyrical and as precise as a hummingbird in flight. In the rhythm of, “One morning a single hummingbird, iridescent green, tapped its sword-like beak,” I swooped happily to join you. Perched 8,000 feet above sea level, I sipped each delicious sentence and went back for more. Thank you!
Thank for this delightful and uplifting piece! They are astounding birds!
This is a stunning piece; thank you!
Birds never fail to amaze me.
this piece reminds me of the 13 years i lived at 7000 feet, in the colorado rockies, eagerly awaiting the return of the hummingbirds. i attempted to rescue one that had become injured. and though i failed to save that one life, i saw that she had golden eyelashes!
I too loved the snowflake image. The piece is a true little gem!
The delicate presence of the hummingbird, described with such vivid imagery and reverence, transforms a summer of solitude into a season of profound connection. Your reflections on the balance between human presence and the rhythms of the wild highlight a deep respect for the natural world. The imagery of “green comets” dueling in the air and the solitary figure at the lookout tower create a striking juxtaposition, emphasizing how even the smallest visitor can alter the landscape of our experiences. This piece is a reminder of the beauty and resilience found in nature, and how it can touch our lives in the most unexpected ways, offering companionship and insight when we least expect it.