Jam Sessions

I'd had my first hummingbird feeder out perhaps one week when I began toying with the idea of purchasing an oriole feeder. I had never seen a Baltimore oriole, ever, unless you count the costumed mascot for the Maryland baseball team. I knew that the male was a brilliant orange and black -- technically a black bird, although more welcome than my flock of hungry lawn wreckers. The female was quite dimorphic, not orange or black like the male or even the bland brown of most female birds, but a bright honey yellow in color. On reading up on the oriole, I learned that they tended to just pass through our area during the spring, heading north to where the cherries were ripening in the orchards... perfect breeding and feeding grounds for these nectar- and fruit-loving birds.

I headed to WBU to learn more about local sightings of orioles. Perhaps this way, I could have a feeder out for them on their path back south for the winter and get a glimpse of them that way. Both sales associates were busy with customers, so I wandered over to the nectar-feeding area where I'd purchased my hummer feeder the previous week. There was only one oriole feeder on display, perhaps reflective of the fact that I had indeed missed prime spring viewing time. It was an ingenious contraption: it held nectar, with portals large enough for an oriole's beak. There were four recessed areas for jelly, an oriole's favorite treat. The hanging rod was sharpened on one end, so that an orange half could be skewered and held in place. Orioles love oranges. In fact, orioles love orange, period. Perhaps it's because the orange color makes them feel as though they're in the company of fellow orioles. Perhaps they just like the bright color. Whatever the reason, every single oriole feeder I have ever seen is orange in color.

Wandering around the store, resisting other feeders and birding accessories, I caught part of the conversation at the check-out counter. A tall, slender man with sandy hair just happened to be holding one of the oriole feeders and was asking the saleswoman what the sugar-to-water ratio for oriole nectar was. The woman, in turn, was trying to get him to purchase pre-made oriole nectar. Having been duped into pre-made nectar (basically, sugar, water, and food coloring) myself, I spoke up. "It's one part sugar to six parts water," I told the man. Good thing I'd just read up on orioles.

"Really? Thanks. I wonder why their nectar needs to be watered down." Hummingbird nectar is one part sugar to four parts water.

"Maybe because hummingbirds are smaller and need more calories?" I suggested, having no clue myself.

"Hmm. I'll have to give that a try. My orioles have been trying to get their beaks into our hummingbird feeder for a couple of weeks now, so it was time to get them a feeder of their own." He lifted the feeder in his hand as proof.

He had orioles... now? This late in the season? He must have recognized my expression, because he shrugged and smiled. "I know. I don't even have a vegetable garden, much less a fruit orchard, but every year an oriole couple chooses to stay the summer in my yard. It's about time I show them I appreciate their visit."

Amazing. That meant I still had a chance of attracting orioles of my own. I headed over to the bird-sighting map WBU has posted on the wall by the door. Customers were welcome to insert a pushpin to indicate a sighting of a desirable spring/summer bird: red for hummingbirds, blue for bluebirds, orange for orioles. I'd already put in a red and blue pushpin for my backyard birds -- these were the pins farthest northwest on the map. To my surprise, there had been oriole sightings just a mile or two down the road from me. Not too many, though -- most of the sightings had been further south and east. Still, that was enough encouragement.

Back home, I hopped online and went to the Backyard Bird Company site to see the selection of oriole feeders available. There was a recycled-plastic number that was as large as a bird house, with little spikes to hold orange halves, plus saucers for jelly. There was a large version of a hummingbird bottle feeder, resembling an upside-down Sunkist soda bottle. There was even a "feeder" of sorts that simply screwed onto a jelly jar, allowing orioles to stick their heads in and feast on the preserves. I shuddered to think of the mess that would make, not to mention the insects it would attract. In the end, I selected the same oriole feeder I'd seen at the store, kicking myself for not having bought it in the first place.

Once it arrived, I prepared a separate nectar concoction for my future oriole guests, carefully spooned blobs of grape jelly onto the little indentations (apparently, grape is the preferred flavor for discerning orioles), then halved one of the neglected oranges in our fridge and skewered it onto the feeder. Satisfied with my handiwork, I set the feeder out on a deck hanger that was viewable from both the kitchen and the sitting room, and hoped for the best.

Two days later, a flash of orange surprised me while I was in the bathroom (which also has a deck-viewing window). I dashed to the window and was treated to the sight of a gorgeous bird perching on the deck hook. His feathers were glossy black and brilliant orange, almost neon in brightness. He quickly swooped down, pecked at the feeder, and flew off before I could snap even one shot.

This pattern repeated itself for about a week. I quickly amassed a multitude of blurry orange photographs, proof enough for me that we had a male oriole in the vicinity. Finally, one evening I decided to just plant myself by the kitchen window and wait. Not the most comfortable place to be, since it basically meant I was crouching on the counter space right next to the sink. My husband was amused by my antics, but they paid off after about 20 minutes, when I finally captured my first non-blurry photos of our oriole male. I was exultant. I raced upstairs to show the kids, who reacted with a couple of polite "That's nice" and one "Yep, that's an oriole all right." Hmf.

Several facts soon became evident. First, this male oriole was a local resident, not a migrant heading north to gorge on cherries. Second, the oriole did not like oranges. After tossing out the fourth dessicated and untouched orange half -- used more for a perch than for food -- I gave up, vowing to try my luck with oranges in the fall. Third, the oriole had an amazing sweet toooth. He would literally eat gobs and gobs of jelly. It got to the point that I began restocking the jelly every day, versus restocking every four days, as I did with my other feeders. Finally, where there was a male, there had to be a female.

I wasn't sure when oriole nesting season was -- none of my books could pinpoint this. Since hummingbird and wren nesting season was June to July, however, I decided that this time frame worked for orioles as well. Unlike my other backyard birds, orioles don't build cup or cavity nests. Their nests are pendulous -- they hang from high deciduous tree branches. This threw me for a moment, and I glared out the kitchen window at my neighbors to the south and east, whose acreage included tall, leafy trees, versus the shorter leafy shrubs and tall conifer forests of our property. Nevertheless, I figured I could help attract female orioles by setting out nesting material. My books stated that oriole lovers normally set out lengths of string and yarn -- draped over bushes or deck rails -- for the birds to collect and use to hang their nests. I'd just trimmed the cords of our den mini-blinds, so I set out six lengths of cut cord out by the oriole feeder.

The strings are still there -- the ones that haven't fallen off the deck, at any rate. Seems that I was off the mark on oriole nesting time. I still don't know when that is, but it's got to be sometime soon, since our male oriole has brought not one but two females to gorge on jelly and nectar at our feeder now. One of the females matches him in temperament: she just loves that jelly, and often comes on her own to feast. The other is much more curious, and a little bit daft. She hops around the deck, perching on our laundry hanger, on other feeders, on the deck furniture. Once, she sat preening on the laundry hanger, saw me watching her from the sliding glass door, and promptly flew at me, crashing into the glass. She fluttered off before I could get the door open and check if she were all right.

I wonder if she's related to Sean.

As the summer rushes past and events like family visits and outings loom in the near future, I worry about having the time to refill the oriole feeder. I don't want my oriole trio to leave us for fruitier (and jellier) pastures, especially if I can't restock their jelly because I chose to take the kids to the beach for a weekend. I'm toying now with the possibility of buying that jelly-jar feeder. That way, the orioles will have all the sweet stuff they could possibly want without my having to be prepared, spoon in hand every morning. And should the jelly attract a multitude of bees or wasps, well, the barn swallows can feast on those.