By Bob Gaydos

      Thanks, Joe. … 

President Joe Biden withdrew from the 2024 presidential race.

   That’s all I could muster at first. The news alert — “Biden dropping out of presidential race” — had popped onto my I-Phone screen about five minutes earlier and I reacted with surprise and I wasn’t sure what else.

       So I drank some tea, popped a couple of vitamins and went outside to watch our three resident hummingbirds try to keep an aggressive woodpecker away from their feeders. Their subsistence. Their future. Through persistence, remarkable athleticism and teamwork, they succeeded. The woodpecker left for easier pickins.

      And I had a moment of clarity.

      It seems I have a pattern. When confronted with a dramatic historic moment, rather than yielding to the ingrained journalistic instinct and rushing to write about it, I take a break to reconnect with, I suppose, real life.

      On Sept. 11, 2001, after watching on TV as a second plane flew into the World Trade Center, I got into my car, turned on the radio and drove to a park close to the newspaper where I worked. As editorial page editor, I knew I would have to write about the attack. The park was familiar to me because I used to walk my dog there before going to work in the morning. I had since moved and there was no dog, but I relaxed as I enjoyed the quiet and watched other people walking their dogs, drank my coffee and listened to reports of a plane striking the Pentagon.

     Then I went to work and wrote an editorial stating that the U.S. was at war.

      Nineteen years later, on Jan. 6, 2020, after watching on TV for two hours as a mob egged on by a president who refused to accept the fact he had lost an election laid waste to the U.S. Capitol, I finally turned off the TV, looked at the new dog and said, “Let’s go for a walk.” We took a quiet stroll around the pond in the back and, though it was cold, it reminded me of the beauty in my life.

     Then I went back in and wrote a column about the fear and anger and shame I felt at this attempted coup and about how the calming words of President-elect Joe Biden helped me to feel there was still hope. He faced a “monumental task,” I wrote, to overcome the disastrous Trump presidency and return America to its place of dignity and stability as the world’s symbol of democracy.

     Which in large part, in a remarkably successful presidency, he did. But the rot in the Republican Party, a gold-plated chamber pot of fear, racism, ignorance, greed, corruption, cowardice, hypocrisy, bigotry, opportunism, threats, lies and lust for power fueled by religious extremism, has not yet been eradicated.

       And President Joe Biden has been told by many of his formerly closest allies in the Democratic Party and much of the mainstream media that he is too old to finish the job.

       I don’t know. He’s 81 and showing signs of mental and physical fatigue. But he knows how to do the job and understands right from wrong. Trump, meanwhile, is 78, a physical, moral and mental wreck and doesn’t really care about the job, just the title and the perks. But Republicans apparently love him and too many Americans still don’t understand the threat he and his enablers pose to that American democracy.

        So as I watched the hummingbirds Sunday afternoon, I thought about what an act of selflessness it was for Biden, who clearly believes he can still do the job, to agree to step aside for someone younger, because, well because it’s the right thing to do. The patriotic thing to do. The politically smart thing to do. At least that’s what he had been constantly told for a month since his poor performance in the debate with Trump (whose litany of lies and accusations was largely ignored).

          Now, Joe Biden, with a lifetime of service to country, has thought of country first and done his job again. He has stood aside for someone younger — most likely Vice President Kamala Harris — who can bring the fight to Trump (now the only old man in the race) and the Republicans and, more importantly, convince a lot of Democrats and other Americans to unite behind her to drive away the threat to America’s future. To their future. Just like the hummingbirds did.

      Thanks, Joe … for everything.

rjgaydos@gmail.com

By Bob Gaydos

For hummingbirds, it’s always feeding time.
RJ Photography

   It seems you can teach an old dog new tricks. I am now a certified hummingbird feeder filler. Well, apprentice.

      More importantly, in the spirit of responsibility that comes with the new title and duties, I feel obliged to give you advance warning to feed and enjoy your hummingbirds now while you may because cooler weather is on the horizon.

     If you live anywhere on the East Coast in the umbrella of the annual hummingbird invasion and occupation, you know that feeding hummingbirds is a pretty big deal. In fact, in the mid-Hudson/Catskills region where I live it’s often the topic of daily conversation.

     So I’m kind of proud of my new designation. And I don’t take it lightly, not with all the whizzing, hovering and humming going on outside our back door.

       The annual visitors and their fledglings have given new dimension to the term feeding frenzy. Now I know why nectar enjoys such an exalted reputation.

        As with many things in my life, I have come to an awareness and appreciation of the hummingbird phenomenon somewhat belatedly. Living in cities for much of that time worked against running into hummingbirds. So did a lack of attention to nature in general.

       But better  belatedly than never … except when you’re feeding.

         There’s nothing like sitting quietly and watching the feeding of half a dozen or so hummingbirds, darting and hovering in, sucking the nectar out of four feeders. Being a novice feeder filler, I actually sat and waited recently to see if my recipe would meet with the birds’ approval, even though I was following a recipe given to me. Basically, sugar and water in the right ratio.

          As I sat watching the hummers jockeying for access to the feeders, one of them flew within about 6 feet of me, stopped, stared me straight in the face and hovered frenetically for about 30 seconds. I was a new feeder and I was getting the once over.

         Judging by the return visits, I think I passed.    

      Watching the feeding is only half the fascination.  What hummingbirds go through every year just to get to our backyard and all the other welcoming feeding places in the Eastern U.S. is an epic tale.

    Regular hummingbird watchers are pretty much aware of it, but I’ll fill in the rest of you cityfolk briefly.

    Ruby-throats, which are the common variety in our area, nest throughout summer and early fall in the eastern United States and southern Canada. They stock up constantly on nectar and bugs to build up the strength for the annual winter migration whence they came from — across the Gulf of Mexico to Mexico and Central America. Some winter in Florida. Go figure.

    They make this round trip every year, flying up to 20 miles a day during daylight hours, when food sources are visible, and an amazing 500 miles at a shot when crossing the Gulf of Mexico. Their average flying speed is between 20 and 30 miles an hour.

     They fly alone and often return to the same source of food on either end. 

      Hummingbirds fly north over the gulf each year for warmer weather and to mate, typically having two fledglings, which the female is left to raise while the male hums around flashing his  his ruby-red throat. When it’s time to go back to Mexico, however, it’s every hummingbird for him or her self.

    And that time will soon be coming in the eastern part of the U.S. as cooler temperatures will find the visitors stocking up on nourishment for the long flight back to their winter home. During that trip, it’s said that a hummingbird’s heart beats up to 1,260 times a minute and its wings flap 15 to 80 times a second. Kind of like me going upstairs.

     In any event, it takes a lot of strength to support that output of energy. For me, that means feeding them well on this end now and  enjoying their company in the waning days of summer while avoiding the news of the day. Like I said, a slow learner.

    Weather and prevailing winds allowing, maybe the birds will return next year, even to an apprentice hummingbird feeder.

(PS: Watch out for the yellowjackets. They love  nectar, too.)

(PPS: Sept. 2 was National Hummingbird Day.)

      rjgaydos@gmail.com