The other morning our furnace clicked on. The same day, as we were picking the last large crop of tomatoes in our garden, we observed a flight of nearly 100 grackles soaring overhead, looking for easy pickings and smaller birds to bully. Meanwhile, the last of the hummingbirds left last week after stoking up on the sugar water feeder in our backyard.
All these were sure signs that our long hot summer is over and it is time to move on.
The innate time clocks of both animals and plants need no calendar, but I think our usual winged summer visitors didn’t care for the climate. The bright orange orioles arrived quickly and on time and seemed to leave even quicker. They tell me those plumy balls of butter, the goldfinches were seen, but we saw them not.
The grackles, however, always seem to come this time of year. They are the marauding outlaws of the avian world with a sassy “knock-the-chip-off-my feathered shoulder” attitude. They arrive in swarms, sponging on anything they can eat, gobbling up the seeds dumped by the birds coming to our feeders. Whether in haste or taste, the birds often drop as many seeds as they ingest. Grackles, schnorrers that they are, know this and are more than content to pick on the leavings.
I am told these sable-colored pests can devour insects, tadpoles, small fish and even young birds. That they spend their winters in and around Texas and Mexico is a Midwestern blessing.
We still see the remarkable hummingbirds each summer. They are a remarkable and regal wonder of nature. These tiny dynamos are said to be more than 42 million years old and are seen from Alaska to the tip of South America. The birds at our feeders make an annual journey from here to the southern climes and back again. Slightly larger than a middle finger, their thin beak, reshaped through the millenniums, sucks flower nectar which fuels their flights. I learned that during their annual thousand mile flights they can consume about 10 times as much oxygen as does a world-class athlete, flying as fast as 30 mph.
The noble hummingbird is also cultural symbol throughout the American continents. It was worshipped by the ancient Aztecs and the Indian tribes of the southwest. The island of Trinidad and Tobago has the bird on its coat of arms, its one-cent coin and the emblem of its national airline.
Meanwhile, our back-of-the-garage garden, which in May was tilled and planted, was nearly demolished by both excessive summer heat and off-and-on drenching rain. Hoped for crops of peppers, peas and beans withered and turned to mere handfuls of produce despite best intentions, constant care and lots of advice from others.
However, the national fruit of this country is still the tomato, which survived and prospered despite the elements. I do not brag, but one cherry tomato plant gave us nearly 300 sweet mouthfuls before slowing down over the weekend.
Pots of petunias in our front yard flowered quickly in the spring and just when they faded our crop of black-eyed Susan took over, filling a large patch with a sea of yellow before they too drooped in September.
For plants and animals, it was time to move on.
Daylight lessens. There will be soft, warm days and pleasant evenings ahead, but if you were once awakened by the morning sun around 6 a.m., you now must search for some kind of light upon rising. Those sweaters once folded neatly lie in a bottom drawer awaiting a cold enough day needed to be freed from bondage.
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Merchants are always ahead of the game and, with some five weeks before the day, Halloween candy is now piled high on the store shelves. Thanksgiving is not so far off the mercantile calendar and the December holidays lurk around the corner. A merry holiday wish to you, but there are still promises to be keep and still work to be done.
We move on.
Jerry Shnay is a freelance columnist for the Daily Southtown.