We spent this last week in Ucluelet with our friends Danielle and Jon, and their wonderful daughters Vivi and Maeve (oh, let’s not forget their dog, Archie). It was a lovely, relaxing weekend filled with fog and sun, beaches and waves, delicious food and the occasional, very lucky, piece of found sea glass.

On our last night there Jon and Danielle went out for dinner to the amazing Pluvio, while we stayed home with the girls. BTW, if you make it out that way, please try to get to Pluvio, you won’t regret it. Danielle referred to the experience as “waking up taste buds she did not know she had”. I love that. And it is true… I digress.

While they were out enjoying their fine meal, and the girls were sleeping snuggly in their bed, “something” flew in the deck door, just as the waning sunset was offering a last peak inside.  Unable to find its way out, this foreign flying creature was buzzing about the living room and bashing into the window. We could hear the vibration of its frantic wings every time it collided with a wall or window.

We quickly sprang into action and turned off all the lights and opened the doors wide, hoping this would help the wayward creature make its escape. For a long time, we sat silent in the new dark, wondering what it was and what else to do.

Was it a Junebug? I recall seeing a few very large ones while vacation in Okanagan Falls as a child. But this big? And I had seen a flash of its underside which seemed more white or gray than the black or dark brown I would have expected for a Junebug.

Eventually it landed on the overhead fan and continued to buzz about, unsure of what to do next. Deciding that action was required we turned on the overhead fan, slow, then medium speed, at which point it took flight. Suddenly we found ourselves dodging a tiny dive bomber, of unknown origin, as it bashed about the kitchen and dining room, frantic to find its way out.

Desperate to know what the little intruder actually was, I flicked on the light. A hummingbird. A tiny hummingbird was trapped in our living room.

Now, even more invested in finding a way to help it go free, I began searching websites, eventually relying on Gemini to help me determine what to do next. “Turn off the fan.” “It will be exhausted and needs to rest.” “Prepare sugar water”, complete with instructions on the preparation – 1 part sugar to 4 parts water. “Have a Qtip handy to feed with.” I did it all.

Now completely dark, there was little probability that it would leave, preferring the questionable safety of the house to the unknown night.

We waited in the darkness for Danielle and Jon to return. We explained what had happened, then locked the dogs and ourselves in our rooms for the night to allow her a quiet rest.

By this time I had concluded, without evidence, it was female. I had been unable to see it’s actual colouring but have often associated hummingbirds with my busy, curious mother; that may have been my primary inspiration….

I had a sleepless night, worrying about whether she might survive her deep sleep having burned so many calories trying to escape. Hummingbirds enter a deep state of sleep at night to save energy. They have a very fast metabolism and would starve in a few hours without food. Their body temperature drops, their heart rate slows and their metabolism reduces by 95%! This “topor” would help her stay alive until morning.

I was up just as the sky began to lighten, well before the hummingbird would awaken from her rest, typically just after sunrise. I opened doors and windows, and closed blinds where I could, to reduce the expanse of glass she might crash into. I waited quietly, lying on the couch and looking up to the fan where she seemed to have stayed for the night.

Just as the sun began to peak over the horizon, I could hear her short vibrations start. It takes a hummingbird 20 to 60 minutes to shiver and warm its body back up to normal temperature before it can fly. When she still did not move, I crept back into the bedroom, closing the door to leave her completely alone and hoping that might help.

I cannot adequately describe my deep concern for this little being. I was wound tight with worry. I could not help peeking into the living room every 10 or 15 minutes, though I did not actually enter.

Almost 45 minutes passed. Then  I began to hear the familiar buzzing and vibration. She was stuck again. At the highest point in the room. She kept pushing up against the window, trying to find a way out. I could see her outline, the thin little beak and the fluttering wings, against the bright light.

Back to Gemini. What now?  I tried it all. Everything. Holding up a red object – the colour hummingbirds see clearly and associate with food. In this case it was one of Rick’s golf shirts on a broom handle. I held it up so long my arms ached, but it was just too short for her to see it over the high ledge of the top window. I tried using a huge sheet of aluminum foil to redirect the sun outside as a bright beam of light for her to follow. She couldn’t see that either. Gentle calls, and peeps and prayers – no impact. She just kept trying to get through that highest of high windows.

By now I was truly frantic, certain she could not survive much longer as she kept trying and trying to escape, burning her precious calories. I was struggling to manage my emotions and unclear what to do next.

Jon and Danielle arrived on the scene. After some discussion we decided to bring in the large (very large) ladder that was kept outside. Presumably it was there to enable owners trying to clean or repair something on our ridiculously high ceilings. (Those same ceilings that had transformed overnight from a glorious view of the ocean and sky to a curse.)

So up the ladder went. Jon bravely climbed to the top, unable to reach the actual ledge, but close enough to wield a small carpet rake (don’t judge me) and a tea towel, in the hopes of encouraging the hummingbird off the ledge. The angle prevented him from actually seeing her, so Danielle and I tried to call out helpful directions from below.

After more attempts than I can even recall, and recognizing the fact that she stayed quite close to the left side, we agreed that we should move the ladder from the right to the left. This was a bit of a tricky maneuver, but successful.  It also allowed Jon to switch arms.

In the interim, the girls had woken up and come into the living room where they watched as quietly as they could, so as not to further distress the poor little hummingbird. 

Slowly, she began to tire, I was assured by Gemini that this might be a good thing as she weighed less than a nickel (!) and would not be harmed in a fall. We would then be able to retrieve her, feed her, and take her outside. It did not feel like it would be a good thing at all. I was terrified that she would land on that top ledge and be irretrievable forever.

As she slowed, she landed on the cloth a few times, only to fly back up to the top window whenever Jon began to gently lower her.  First quiet, except for the whirring of her wings, she was now making tiny peeps. Was she afraid?  Hurt?

Finally, finally, finally, he was able to bring her down to the next ledge, then the one below that., She was lying motionless on the lowest ledge of all.

Grabbing the small ladder and another towel, I climbed up and carefully retrieved her. She was on her back. Still. Completely still. I was trying so hard not to cry, certain we had killed her with our good intentions. 

I picked her up carefully, lightly swaddled in the tea towel.  Her light tawny and white colouring confirmed this sweet little hummingbird was indeed a she. I knew it!

We went outside.  Still no movement and no sign of breathing. We dipped a Qtip into the sugar water and I held it close to her beak.  We waited. It was so quiet. Were we all holding our breath? Or was it just me?

There was a breath. A slow return to even breathing. We waited. Then her tongue appeared dipping and wrapping around the Qtip. Wetting, then offering it to her again, that little hummingbird tongue extended and tasted. Then one more time. She wasn’t moving in the towel, but I knew she was ready. Gently loosening my soft hold on her, she flew away.

In an instant – she was gone.

There is no moral to this story, though the happy ending was a wonderful moment for all of us. For me, it was a small moment of redemption.

My mother passed away while I was with her. I was unable to help her – just hold her hand. It was her wish and I wanted to respect that. And here was this little hummingbird, the thing that for all intents and purposes represented my mother… to me at least. I had helped to save her. I had held her in my hands.

And now, she is free.