Richard Reiss

I’d like to think he’s my friend despite the fact we have never spoken. Sometimes he’ll be as close as two or three feet away, staring at me intently until he disappears as quickly as he appeared. What could he be thinking? What could he want from me? He is diminutive by comparison, barely larger than my thumb. Yet if he is fascinated by me, I am even more fascinated by him.

Of all the creatures on my land, the ruby-throated hummingbird (the only hummingbird to be found in the Berkshires) is the one that keeps coming back. Or should I say he has yet to leave and often brings others with him. A group of four hovers, zips and buzzes through my garden. Of course, they are welcome. My garden is full of the brightly colored nectar-filled flowers they like. And if that’s not enough, the feeder has the perfect hummingbird elixir: a quarter-cup of sugar mixed with one cup of water.

If I don’t see my tiny visitors, I often hear them flapping their wings up to 80 times per second. Unlike the larger birds on my property — the hawks, chickadees, sparrows, robins and an occasional heron, whose flights are gentle and silent — the hummingbird sounds a bit like a soft drum roll or the constant hum of an internal combustion engine in idle.

Hummingbirds are restless creatures. On average, they travel 25 miles a day to consume twice their body weight in nectar. They are speedy, too. A hummingbird flies 30 miles per hour, and when diving can reach more than 60. By comparison, this human, when traveling on a very expensive bike, averages 15 miles per hour. I’ll hit 40 on a steep downhill, but after three hours on the bike, I’m pooped: my legs hurt, my body aches and I need two days of rest to recover. The hummingbird, who winters 2,000 miles away in Central America, will traverse the 500-plus miles of the Gulf of Mexico without stopping on the way to its destination. It is an aerial Energizer Bunny on steroids.

Despite the foursome in my garden, it’s not likely they are paired as couples. At best, they are friends. Courtship among hummingbirds is brief, and once a male inseminates a female, he is gone with the wind, ready to find another partner. The female raises the babies without the male, and as soon as the chicks can fly, they are on their own in the never-ending quest for nectar. Courtship and familial love are infinitesimally brief. Hummingbirds like their independence, and the male, with its striking ruby neck and iridescent green body, is a bit of a womanizer. In fact, both male and female tend to sleep around. During mating season, a female hummingbird might lay her eggs as many as three times, with each deposit of eggs brought about by a different male. In today’s polyamorous world, the hummingbird is a natural.

Nonetheless, there is still something magical about the hummingbird. Not only can they hover as they stare into your eyes, but unlike any other birds on the planet, they also can fly backwards without breaking eye contact.

The hummingbird has found a place in many cultures dating back through the ages. The Aztecs, for example, believed that the spirits of fallen warriors returned to earth as hummingbirds. If only I could train them to keep the voles, groundhogs and deer out of my garden.

For most, however, the hummingbird is a sign of joy, good luck, healing and resilience. In short, it represents all the things we look for in our tumultuous world. Lucky for me, they’re staring me down daily.