Happy birthday, Evelyn

Female Rufous Hummingbird. Margaret Madsen photo.

Whenever my sister Evelyn's birthday rolls around, I cheer and feel like dancing in the street. It's so wonderful to be able to say, "Happy birthday, Evelyn!"

Ten years ago when a biopsy had just confirmed that she had cancer, we sat with coffee mugs at her dining room table in Humboldt, talking and weeping.

"I'm going to fight like anything to beat this," she said, reaching for my hands. "But if I can't, I'm okay with that, too, but I need to know you're okay with  it."

"I don't want to lose  you now. Not so soon after Joyce." Our sister next in line after Evelyn had died two years earlier in a car accident.

"I miss her too," Evelyn said.

We gripped hands tightly and wept, overwhelmed by thoughts of death and the waste of lives cut short. Our sister Joyce had had a turbulent and troubled life, and her method of relaxation and renewal had always been to walk on her own with a pair of binoculars around her neck, seeking solace in observing the wild creatures. In her latter years,she loved to roam the hills above Penticton where she lived.

When our children were young, she brought them unusual gifts like a huge, perfect abandoned wasp nest on a tree trunk, and another time, a plaster casting of a cougar paw print, and the first bird feeder we'd ever owned. She always had stories of birds she had seen on her walks, though she kept no lists and scoffed at those birders who worried about "life lists."

She was a quiet person, but at the same time, exotic and unconsciously flamboyant. I told Evelyn about the last time she and her husband had spent Christmas with us when their daughter was little. She had worn a brilliant scarlet poinsettia above her ear, very striking against her hair.

As Evelyn and I wiped our tears, movement in the still-leafless lilac bush outside the window caught our attention. The tiniest little olive green bird was hopping from branch to branch, poking at the leaf buds and flicking its short tail. We didn't know what it was - white eye ring, dark wings with white bars, light greenish yellow below, dark short tail.

And suddenly the little bird tilted its head down and we had a perfect view of a vivid red rectangle running front to back on top of its head. Evelyn and I both gasped. The red crown was so unexpectedly flamboyant on the rather drab wee bird. And the red was the same shade as the poinsettia Joyce had worn at the Christmas dinner years earlier.

We had just seen our first Ruby-crowned Kinglet in full breeding splendor. According to the guide books, it's unusual to be able to see the red crown because the male flaunts it only during breeding season and the birds are usually high in the tree canopy. We were very fortunate.

We felt strangely comforted and reassured, as though God had spoken or an angel had visited us.

Happy birthday, Evelyn.