ALL IMAGE CREDIT: @BurtonMaria.
Every morning this summer, my backyard in New Jersey was alive with the delicate whirr of wings. Ruby-throated hummingbirds—those tiny jeweled acrobats—darted between my flowers and feeders, flashing their emerald backs and the males’ trademark scarlet throats like living sparks of fire. But now, as the air grows cooler and the last crickets sing under fading daylight, the garden is quiet. The hummingbirds have gone.
I feel their absence like a missing heartbeat. Just days ago, they hovered on my porch, wings beating 50 times a second, their long beaks dipping into the sugar water I set out just for them. Now they’re on a journey that seems almost impossible for such fragile creatures: a migration spanning thousands of miles, from our East Coast neighborhoods down to the lush, warm havens of Central America. For many, the route includes a daring nonstop flight over the Gulf of Mexico—nearly 500 miles of open water. Imagine a bird that weighs less than a nickel attempting that!
Ruby-throated hummingbirds are summer residents across the East, from Georgia all the way up to Maine. They arrive in late spring, usually around April in New Jersey, after overwintering in places like Mexico, Honduras, and Costa Rica. Each bird remembers its favorite feeding spots with incredible precision, returning to the same yards, gardens, and forest edges year after year. This summer, they graced us with their aerial ballet—zipping in arcs, hovering mid-air, even chasing each other with astonishing speed. Now, they’ve traded our cooling breezes for the tropical warmth they need to survive the winter.
It’s bittersweet—sad to see them go, yet thrilling to think about the journey they’re on. While we humans bundle up in scarves and sip hot cocoa as Earth tilts us toward shorter days, the hummingbirds will be basking among orchids and palm fronds. But here’s the good news: as surely as crocuses poke through the last crusts of frost, they’ll be back. And if you live anywhere along the East Coast, you can make your garden a welcoming stop on their return trip north.
The secret is timing. In New Jersey, put your feeders out by mid-April 2026—earlier if you’re farther south, a little later if you’re in northern New England. Hummingbirds migrate individually, not in flocks, so the very first arrivals may be weary and hungry from their long journey. A bright red feeder filled with a simple homemade nectar (four parts water to one part plain white sugar—no dyes!) can make all the difference. They’ll also appreciate native flowers like bee balm, cardinal flower, trumpet vine, and columbine, which provide both nectar and safe perches.
One of the most endearing things about ruby-throats is how fiercely territorial they are despite their size. I’ve watched them chase goldfinches, bumblebees, even each other—all in the name of protecting “their” feeder. Yet, for all their fiery spirit, they weigh less than a teaspoon of sugar. Their hearts beat more than 1,200 times a minute in flight, a rhythm so fast it makes ours seem lazy. No wonder they need to eat nearly every 10 minutes just to keep going.
As I stand in the crisp September air, I picture them now: a tiny green flash threading its way past Georgia, a scarlet throat glittering in the Caribbean sun, wings buzzing on toward the rainforests of Central America. And I remind myself—the quiet won’t last forever. By spring, their return will signal not only warmer weather but also the joy of their company, the magic of watching something so small and determined defy the odds year after year.
So yes, the garden feels emptier without them. But in the tilt of the Earth, the shortening days, and the golden light of autumn, there’s also a promise. The hummingbirds will come back, as they always do. And when they do, I’ll be waiting—with fresh nectar, blooming flowers, and a heart full of wonder for these tiny travelers who stitch our seasons together, north to south, year after year.
