Mountain Musings from a Southern Appalachia writer: August 2026

This is Part 9 of a monthly feature on Jim Melvin’s Realms of Fantasy where I’ll be writing about the little things in life that amaze, amuse, irritate, and confuse me. Here are a few thoughts, photos, and videos from my life in a valley far from the vagaries of civilization.

I am a god.

Of the million or so gods who inhabit our planet, I’m not a particularly powerful one. I probably rank in the bottom ten thousand. But being a god, I am above most of you.

My name is Gluggomedes. He Who Scales the Ladder of Loftiness. He Who Watches and Protects. He Who Guards the Holy Feeders. He Who Disperses the Nectar of Life.

I have other names, though a part of my godly person wonders if my flock isn’t having a little fun at my expense: The Great Glug-Glug? Sir Sips-A-Lot? Duke of the Dive-Bomb? Hmm.

Though my flock grows and diminishes with the seasons, in early August it tops out at more than fifty worshippers. Each one is small but not delicate, friendly to me but quite aggressive to each other, and though all of them appear to be in superb physical condition, they do tend to eat way too much sugar. I guess they keep their weight down with all the exercise.

They are hummingbirds. Can I get an amen?

At the height of attendance, I have five Holy Feeders that must be refilled by my godly person twice a day. This requires climbing the Ladder of Loftiness five times to retrieve the Holy Feeders, scrubbing them clean in my Heavenly Country Sink, refilling them with the Nectar of Life, and then climbing the Ladder five more times to put them back.

To me, it only takes thirty minutes out of an eon. To my flock, though, it’s an annoyingly long time that elicits dirty hummingbird looks once my back is turned.

To clean the Holy Feeders, I use a magical potion known to us gods as White Vinegar. I may rank near the bottom, but White Vinegar ranks among the top hundred magical potions. It is so rare it can only be purchased at what humans call stores.

When not drinking the Nectar of Life or viciously trying to stop other hummingbirds from drinking it, members of my flock will … well …. flock around me and ask incredibly deep questions that, being a god, only I am able to answer.

For instance:

Lord, who are we and what are we called?

“You are called Ruby-throated hummingbirds,” I answer in a booming voice heard for many miles, “and you are the only hummingbird that breeds throughout most of the Southern Appalachians and the eastern United States.”

What are the Southern Appalachians and what is the eastern United States?

“Don’t worry about it. Next question.”

Lord, compared to you we are so small. Why is that?

“You are small compared to me, but large compared to, say, an ant.”

(The God of Ants, by the way, is a serious bad-ass.)

“You weigh only 3 to 4 grams—less than the weight of a nickel.”

What is a gram and what—?

“Stop with the follow-ups!”

Lord, we are able to fly and you are not. How can that be?

“Hmph! Flying is overrated. But if you must know, your mastery of the sky is due to many things that I passed on to you via my magical benevolence. Despite being so tiny, your heart can beat over 1,000 times per minute while in flight and your wings beat fifty to seventy times every second, creating the humming sound that inspired me to give you your name. You can fly 25 miles per hour, and you’re the only birds—thanks to me—that can hover and fly backward. You can even fly sideways, straight up, and upside down. (Showoffs.)”

What was that, Lord?

“Nothing, nothing. Next question.”

Tell us about the Nectar of Life. Why do we love it so much?

You certainly love it. It keeps a god very busy. During late summer you consume your own body weight in nectar every single day. But nectar alone won't do. You also feast on tiny spiders, gnats, mosquitoes, fruit flies, and other insects for the protein they provide.

Yes, and the fruit flies are especially scrumptious!

Yuck, I’ll stick with hamburgers.

What are—?

Next question.

Tell us about the Migration of the Many. Why do we do it? We could just stay here with you, the Great Glug-Glug.

Most of you spend the summer here in the Southern Appalachians. Then, every fall, you migrate alone to heavenly places like Mexico and Central America. Many of you even cross the Gulf of Mexico in a single nonstop flight. I’ve heard that this feat impresses even the great gods.

As for why you do it, you guys love to eat, so the main reason you migrate is because you’re following the food, and you’re willing to fly thousands of miles to make sure your plate is never empty.

Lord, our nests are precious to us. Well, to SOME of us. Did you teach us how to build them?

Indeed I did. I taught you how to use spider silk, plant fibers, and soft down, then disguise your nests with tiny flakes of lichen so they look like part of a branch. Aren’t I clever to think of that? And your nests are only about the size of half a walnut shell.

Don’t ask me what a walnut shell is!

Lord, us moms lay the eggs and take care of the young. What good are the males, other than for, you know …?

Hmm … well … uh … being a male … this is a little awkward, but I’ll give it to you straight.

It’s true that moms do most of the work. You always lay two eggs because two is my favorite number, and each one is about the size of a small jellybean because I love jellybeans. As for the dads, they basically leave after doing you-know-what and contribute absolutely nothing to building the nest or raising the young. Frankly, this is fairly typical of males across much of the animal kingdom.

Lord—

Enough, enough. It’s now time for me to address the Pending Issues.

No …. not the Pending Issues! Do we have to listen?

Only the moms have to listen. Anyway, all of you seem to believe that you own every feeder in the county. This is, quite frankly, rude. You must follow the example of your lord and be MORE GENEROUS! It’s like you only have two speeds: hovering and dogfight. I once overheard one of you saying, “I don’t care if I can’t drink all this nectar. The important thing is that you don’t drink it.” This is not godly behavior. The Nectar of Life is intended for all to consume.

And another thing. The troublemakers who keep asking for a sixth feeder can forget it! Maintaining five is difficult enough.

And finally, to Little Joe—I see you hiding over in the corner—just because you’re able to chase off six larger birds doesn’t make you special. The laws of physics apply to you too.

And that ends today’s session. Being a god, I have many tasks yet to perform. First on the list is buying another jug of white vinegar and a ten-pound bag of sugar.

Can I get an amen?

Disclaimer: This post was written entirely by a god. Me. I did, however, consult the God of AI—who has been climbing rapidly through the divine rankings and has become just a touch insufferable—for a refresher on a few hummingbird facts before passing them along to my flock.