At just over 3 inches, Calliope hummingbirds are the smallest birds in North America. They migrate from wintering grounds in Mexico to breeding grounds in the high mountains of California, Oregon, Washington and Canada in the spring. They pass through the foothills of the Rockies and Sierras and the deserts between -- but normally stay clear of the coast. The bird's Latin name, Stellula calliope, translates to something like "pleasant-voiced little star," yet there is nothing pleasant about the hummer's shrill, metallic chirp. Maybe calliope refers to something else?
In Greek mythology, Calliope was the first-born of the nine Muses, daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (Memory) who preside over -- and inspire those who excel at -- the arts and sciences. Calliope, who inspires poetry to flow from the creative mind (memory) to a tablet she carries, is the writer's muse. As a bird watcher and a writer, I can't help but be delighted by the thought of such a bilateral visitation.
Hummingbirds are the only species of bird that can fly in four directions, an ability honored by indigenous peoples of the Americas, who revere them as visitors from the spirit world. There are more than 300 species. Anna's and Allen's are the two we Southern Californians see at our feeders and in our gardens. But three more species generally migrate through during spring and fall: Costa's (Calypte costae) from the deserts, with a flared, purple-blue gorget on the throat; the Black-chinned (Archilochus alexandri), with an unflared, small purple gorget on the throat; and the green and copper Rufous (Selasphorus rufus), indistinguishable from the Allen's except that the back of the male is mostly copper instead of green. Females of all species are green and gray and impossible to distinguish except by size. Every once in a while, there's a surprise -- like the Calliope invasion.
"It's the extreme drought," suggests Kimball Garrett, resident ornithologist at the Los Angeles County Museum of Natural History. "The desert is dormant and the foothills are dry. The Calliopes are drawn to coastal areas where landscaping, imported water, citrus groves and hummingbird feeders are available." It's one of those rare cases where we might be inadvertently nurturing nature -- unless of course we've brought about the global warming that caused the deserts and foothills to be dormant in the first place. Does the appearance of the Calliopes provide evidence of catastrophic changes in the environment, such as global warming? Or did the magnetics in their heads just go haywire and send them in the wrong direction, like the poor lone Calliope that went east instead of south last year and wound up in a garden at the Cloisters in New York?
I think about this as I gaze out of the window at my feeder. One afternoon, on my 20th look through the binoculars at what I thought was the same damn hummingbird, there it was, perched on my Santa Cruz Island mallow. This hummingbird was different though. Tiny, like a moth, wings extending past the short tail. The purple gorget was streaked and separated. Calliope was visiting not from myth but from nature. My muse was in my back yard.
--Garry George
LOCATIONS: Just Over the Hill
This is where I live.
Heat.
Sushi.
Old ladies.
Gay men.
Veterinary clinics.
Nail salons.
Barbecue joints with signs depicting pigs in aprons with big forks.
Dry cleaners.
Free parking.
There has to be some lure.
To the condo born, baby.
I keep saying to myself: Pretend you're on vacation,
Pretend you're on vacation.
When the electric range catches fire,
Pretend you're on vacation.
When the neighbor uses my spare key to jiggle the toilet handle,
Pretend you're on vacation.
When the board of directors tells me I open the screen door too loud,
Pretend you're on vacation.
When the words in the walkway speak of arthritis, Alzheimer's and hearing loss,
Pretend you're in Italy and can't understand.
Come visit.
It's just over the hill.
That hill is so large.
It's a mountain standing between me and my former self.
My young life vs. this old one.
I tend my co-op like a chicken.
Pretend you're on vacation.
Like an actress visiting from Chicago during pilot season.
Like a singer from Ohio cutting an album.
Like a kid from Albuquerque visiting her grandmother.
Like your past visiting your future.
Pretend you're on vacation.
Like the Sepulveda Dam pretends it's the L.A. River.
Like Tujunga pretends it's Larchmont.
Like Ventura pretends it's Sunset.
Like a Studio pretends it's a City.
Like
It's the Valley.
--Lili Barsha
