It’s mid-November. It’s gotten cold, it’s gotten rainy, but for some reason, undoubtedly related to climate change, my pineapple sage is still hanging in there, to the evident delight of the Anna’s hummingbirds.
While other local hummers, like the Rufous and the Black-chinned hummingbirds, have long since headed south to Texas and Mexico to pass the winter frolicking in warmer climes,
even though it’s thousands of miles of flying and they’re just feather weights,
the jewel-toned Anna’s, like this lovely little lady bird, manage to stick around throughout the damp and dreary Puget Sound winter.
and I stopped picking them altogether when I realized that the hummingbirds were still dining early and often on our deck. They’re often the first thing I see when I open my eyes in the morning, and speaking of vision, if I’m out on the deck they’ll sometimes come and hover just in front of my face, fierce long bill pointing right between my eyes. I don’t know whether they’re being territorial and trying to scare me back inside in front of the fire, where I belong, or whether they’re thanking me for having so heavily fertilized the pineapple sage last spring. They speak in little clicks, and I haven’t mastered that language yet.
But even though I can’t fully understand their story, they’re definitely my model for strength in the face of adversity, artless beauty, and eating well in every season. Go pineapple sage!