For something that weighs only 0.1 to 0.2 ounces, hummingbirds carry a lot of sway for those who love them. Maybe that’s why — because they’re able to pack such a mesmerizing punch into the blink of an eye. 

They’re the only birds I feed anymore because their nectar feeders are high and out of reach for neighboring cats. But one little fellow became the focus of a dramatic detour for me.

Saturday afternoon, I cleaned the hanging birdbath and randomly walked over to a peony bush with dead foliage surrounding it. I meant to clear some of it away. But as I stood there, I heard shuffling. Looking down, camouflaged by leaves and debris, sat a hummingbird. 

I knew something was amiss as hummers are not supposed to be on the ground. They’re unable to walk. They’re either perched or flying. I thought maybe it was a fledgling. It looked perfectly healthy, so I picked it up gently and tried to see if it would fly, but it fluttered its wings and fell. It showed no interest in a dish of sugar water.

I called Wildlife Images and said I could bring him right over, but they had a release scheduled and it would have to wait until the following morning. They instructed me to keep it warm in a box with no food or water. I did not expect this fragile jewel of the animal kingdom to make it through the night. The guest room was ready for him.

I brought the little guy in, put a couple of twigs inside the box, and closed the door. I turned up the heat so he would be warm. My sleep was intermittent. I kept thinking of my guest but didn’t want to be a hovering hostess.

The next morning after feeding the boys, I crept upstairs and dared a peek in the box. There he sat on the twig waiting for me. I started calling him Little Trouper and if he was game, so was I. I warmed Giovanni the Honda and rather than a church service, my Easter morning would involve a life-saving effort.

It’s almost an hour’s drive to Wildlife Images but seemed longer. About halfway there, Trouper began chirping at me from the passenger seat. I told him to hang on, we were nearly there. 

When we arrived at the Wildlife Images gate, it was locked and no one appeared to be around. I looked in the box and he had fallen and was lying on his side. He looked like he was about done. I couldn’t believe we’d come this far for him to succumb at the threshold of his helpers. I said a prayer over him and got hold of a worker on the phone who said she’d be right down. 

When I checked the box again, I couldn’t believe he had climbed back on his perch.

Handing him over the fence, I felt emotionally drained and like my mission was accomplished.

Driving back immediately was too anticlimactic. I wanted breakfast, a place to think, and time to regroup. The first option while returning through Merlin was a bar called My Place. A big sign read “Open for Breakfast.” Upon entering, there were two women working there — Christy the owner and Courtney. There were no other customers.

I approached the counter and shared why I was in the area and that I had planned to go to church for Easter but took this detour. I ordered pancakes and an egg with coffee, and we started visiting. The conversation veered onto a somewhat spiritual path and I went along for the ride, poking in my two cents here and there. Then I began to get a clue of why I’d found the bird and why I landed at the My Place bar on an Easter morning. Life is never boring.

It will go down as the best and most memorable Easter of my life. I recommend a visit to My Place in Merlin, where they host live music every Friday and Saturday night and Christy makes White Horse burgers (no, not from horses, silly) that apparently are quite special. I’ll be back to try one soon. 

Meanwhile back at the homestead, hummer mama is sitting valiantly on her nest by the kitchen window, and soon there will be new Troupers flying their colors.

Peggy Dover is a freelance writer/author. Reach her at peggydover@gmail.com.