There he was, on our deck, wondering what we'd done with the oranges. They're back--Baltimore Orioles, who, for a couple of weeks are ours--the Alton Orioles. Two or three or four hang around maybe. Never many. Just enough to brighten our day. That bravo chest, sunlit, makes them wonderful garden accessories.
They're here every year, whether or not you feed them, I suppose. Their ancestors probably spent time in the neighborhood when there was nothing but prairie all around, and the nearest orange was hanging from a limb in Florida.
They don't stay long. You got to love 'em while you can. Maybe a couple of weeks and they'll high-tail it farther north. People who remembered the Depression used to claim hobos marked the houses of the softhearted for further reference. Who knows?--maybe we're thusly labeled with some sign on an oriole's gps. Maybe this very guy was here last year too; we're a stop on his own underground railroad.
It's just good to have him back--and his vrouw, even if it's only for couple of glorious weeks. They're not as heraldic, as the first robins, but their tangerine garb brightens our world. For a while at least, they make us a House of Orange.
But they don't stay. They grace us with their royalty, but, like so much in life, you gotta' love 'em while you can.
The Alton Orioles--they make you thankful.
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