If I hadn't been up early and gone for a walk I never would have learned the satisfying news that numbers of Baltimore Orioles had arrived in coastal Maine the day before the Preakness.
I make no apologies for the blurry photo of an Oriole in an apple tree that I took that early spring morning: after all, we had lived in Maryland for decades and rarely saw them. The seed store lady said that she had never heard of anyone successfully feeding them. You'll hear that Orioles like grape jelly, which is probably why I never had any luck: I would never feed a creature of nature any human food. But more than once I did precariously climb our pointy Hawthorns to nail orange sections to the branches to lure them closer to us. However, a bird knows that Hawthorns produce bitter red berries and not sweet fruit, so they were not fooled and we never saw them.
Our neighborhood in Maryland was a cul-de-sac shaded by plane trees and tall tulip poplars that formed an amphitheater all around and over us. For a short period of time in the spring the Orioles moved around the treetops singing their wonderful songs until they inevitably went silent for the summer. It was as disappointing a time as when the Wood Thrush in the forest did the same thing a month later.