Author's bio: Kay Seefeldt is a 25-year veteran middle school teacher, who enjoys painting with watercolors, writing poetry and prose, gardening, and celebrating the joys of living in God's wonderful world. She and her sister recently registered a group with the Red Hat Society called the Down East RED Sweet HeArTs of Calais and New Sharon, Maine.
"Something orange just flew into the thicket," I excitedly told my husband as I stood up from digging weeds in our "swamp" garden. "It has to be an oriole!" We'd been feeding birds ever since moving to our Itty Bitty Dirt Farm in 1978, but never had a Baltimore oriole graced our expanding bird sanctuary.
Roy and I waited for a glimpse of orange to reappear, but it didn't happen. In the evening when Roy had a phone chat with his elderly mother in Wisconsin, she suggested putting out orange halves to "toll them up" as they like eating them during nesting season.
Next day Roy nailed an orange feeder he'd built, to the cherry tree near where I'd seen the flash of color. Within a couple of days, it was obvious an elusive diner had been partaking of the citrus halves. Closer inspection revealed hornets hovering over the fruit. Could it be they were responsible for eating the fruit clean to the rind? We resorted to espionage from the bathroom window hoping to "catch" our mysterious visitor.
"Look, Babers, something is on the orange feeder," Roy announced, "but It's definitely not an oriole." Drawing the image closer with his binoculars, he caught Mr. Chipmunk "red-footed" gorging himself on the fruit. Knowing what cool little critters they are, we continued supplying oranges for our furry friend, while hoping the oriole might welcome our hospitality as well.
Our patience paid off. Ms. Early Bird was feasting at the orange feeder one morning, and a few more mornings, before she went incognito for the rest of the season.
The following spring, anticipating the possible return of the orioles, we put out oranges the first of May and hung a plastic oriole feeder, filled with orange colored nectar. To our delight both male and female orioles began eating from the fruit, but wouldn't take a sip of the orange nectar. Preferring instead to raid the hummingbirds' red nectar. (Is this similar to the grass is always greener concept?) After draining it down as far as their beaks could reach, they'd cleverly jump onto the feeder from a nearby pole or branch, causing it to swing back and forth. As the nectar sloshed toward the openings, they'd siphon off the rest. (Bird brains?)
Eventually, we noticed the female making numerous flights into the high branches of one of the huge poplar trees near the end of our house. The pair had constructed their long stocking-like nest only several yards from our living room window! How exciting! We should have a prime view of the goings on.
One afternoon a severe, but quick moving thunderstorm hit our area. When we arrived home from grocery shopping, leaves and twigs littered the driveway and lawn. Immediately, we investigated to see how the nest had weathered the storm. My heart sank, upon discovering a large branch had crashed to the ground. The oriole's nest lay limply on the rain-soaked ground beside it...amazingly still attached. Gently, Roy lifted the edge of the nest, and peering inside, discovered four dull, white eggs. "I can't believe this! They're all miraculously intact! What are we going to do?" I asked.
"With any luck, I am going to perform tree surgery and give it an artificial limb." Roy chuckled and headed for the barn. Presently, he returned carrying his twenty-foot ladder, his cordless power drill, and a carpenter's apron full of sheet rock screws. While I steadied the ladder and held my breath, Roy balanced on a top rung juggling the branch in one hand and drill in the other.
"Mission accomplished," he said at last, and descended to terra firma. The reattached limb proudly jutted towards heaven once again, and the nest was none the worse for the ordeal.
"We've done all we can do. Now we can only hope the mother will reclaim her nest and the eggs haven't cooled off," Roy said. We exited the scene together with a silent prayer in our hearts.
Stationed at the window, we were totally relieved as the female went directly to her nest, from wherever she'd been hiding while watching the goings on.
Our greatest joy came from seeing mommy and daddy oriole feeding their four hungry fledglings as they huddled together on the same branch that had nearly turned them into scrambled eggs.
Every spring since, Itty Bitty Dirt Farm has been blessed with a bumper crop of brilliant Baltimore orioles...quite possibly the children and grandchildren of that original pair. They devour nearly a bag of oranges a week, still trespass at the hummingbird feeders, and continue to call the wimpy poplar "Home Tweet Home," trusting in Roy to make any necessary home repairs.
© Kay Seefeldt