Ever Hopeful
A hummingbird drinks during a spring snowstorm.
This morning, while I was barefooted on the front porch, taking pictures of big snowflakes landing on daffodils and tulips, I was buzzed by a hummingbird. It was the first one of the season and, just like the past two years, the diminutive bird hovered where, in summertime, our feeder hangs. When it didn’t find the feeder, it found me. Needless to say, I dashed inside, dug out our hummingbird feeder, filled it with lukewarm juice, and hung it in the customary spot. The hungry bird was back in a flash. Though I hear little noise in town but murmurs of exasperation with the weather, it is the hummingbird that I really feel sorry for. I hope he can get through a freezing night.
While it has snowed and rained over the past few days (weeks? months?), Mayo and I have managed to get out for some grand hikes. We’ve watched blue grouse strut in the gathering dusk on a Big Hole ridge, walked through softly falling snowflakes on the Valley Trail in Teton Park, and explored a trail down to the South Fork from the Pine Creek Bench in Swan Valley. There’s great early-season hiking to be had if you look in the lowlands.
And even with day after day of grey and soggy skies, I am ever hopeful that spring will soon come, that I can at last plant the seeds that in a few months will feed us, and that the hummingbirds can sleep comfortably through our mountain nights.

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