By Fred Bouchard So there we were sitting on the side deck well after six of a June evening, sipping chablis with wine pals Jim and Debbie, grinning over Elon/Donny antics, when in an eye-blink along the driveway, I caught a form flitting through the long-past lilacs. I put down my glass and craned. “What th–?” “What is it?” “A female hummingbird…” “Where!” “No wayy.” The gray mite amid grayish spent blooms was darting back and forth for—a sip of nectar? A late blossom? A leaf to doze under? Everyone got a quick peek at her, and in 15 seconds [READ MORE]