Beautiful Stranger

My favorite photo of our visiting Hooded Oriole

Our yard hosts many lovely birds each year and we are especially lucky that a group of Baltimore Orioles comes back to us every winter. They start appearing sometime around October and leave in March or April. They are uncommon in Athens, Georgia, so when I report them on the citizen science reporting app, eBird, they get marked as rare or unusual and a report goes out to birders who might be interested in seeing them. This winter was no exception. When they arrive in the fall, I place several dishes of cheap grape jelly in feeders around the yard because they are fruit eaters and they love the sugar. So it was not unusual for me to look out of the kitchen window on January 1 and see a pretty orange and black bird gobbling jelly. Just another oriole, I thought. But something was off. This bird did not look like the typical orioles we see in Georgia. The adult male Baltimore Orioles are almost neon orange with a black head and back. The females and young are lighter orange with brownish orange heads, or in the case of the young males, splotchy black heads as they mature. This bird was a lighter shade of orange, with an orange head, a black chin and face, and a black tail. My heart started to pound. This was something special! I am not an expert birder. I like to watch them and know how to identify a lot of birds, but I'm hesitant to report that I've seen something rare because I'm often wrong. I'm a person who is prone to hear hoofbeats and think zebras. I pulled out my field guides and used the ID feature on my iPhone and all signs pointed to a Hooded Oriole! I was so excited that I was starting to hyperventilate. But then I looked at the range map and saw that they are not seen in Georgia. They are west coast birds, ranging from California to Mexico, Southern Arizona, New Mexico and Texas. Red flag. I was very unsure. So, I decided to post a photo of it on Facebook saying, I think I have a Hooded Oriole in my yard and waited for my experienced birder friends to kindly talk me down. Minutes later, the thumbs up appeared, and several trusted people validated my report! So exciting! But that was just the beginning of the monthlong saga that caused my yard to be named "Stakeout Hooded Oriole" to the birding world.

First blurry shot with my phone

You can see the oriole was far out of his normal range

Later that afternoon I received a call from my friend Richard, who is an expert birder and has, himself, reported rare birds in his beautiful native yard habitat. He was calling to walk me through what happens when you report a very rare bird on eBird. A rare report triggers emails to people who are interested in seeing rarities in their own city, state, region or nationally. Richard had actually hosted a Hooded Oriole in his yard during the winter of 2025 and we suspected that this could be the same one. He said that when it came to his yard it was only the 2nd sighting of a Hooded Oriole in Georgia, making ours the 3rd. Pretty cool. When the bird was in Richard's yard, he stuck around for several months and made himself viewable for many, many interested people. I think Richard told me 150 or so. He told me that we were under no obligation to make the yard available to the public, but that if we did we would need to set some boundaries that worked for us, and people would need to respect them. After talking with my husband, we decided that it was a good thing to share a special birding opportunity with the public, so I reported the bird and let people know they were welcome during certain hours and with some restrictions. Hoodini, as he had been nicknamed last year, was very shy and at that point was feeding mostly in our fenced back yard. I have dogs and they need to go outside, so we needed to work around that. And our family needs to use our garage and driveway. But I figured that people would just have to deal with us if they wanted to see the big star. There were no issues.

I was relieved when he returned!

No issues, except that after I reported him, Hoodini was nowhere to be seen. I didn't see him again for a couple of days. But the day after I posted the report I looked out of my window to see a line of people across the street from my house with their binoculars and cameras trained on our yard. I think there were about 10 people, but I couldn't get a great view without going outside and disturbing them. Birders were standing in my front yard, and walking cautiously through the gates of the back yard. No one saw the Hooded Oriole that day and I felt bad like it was somehow my responsibility to give them a good show. Luckily, our Baltimore Orioles stepped up and people were pretty happy to see them as a consolation prize, since they are uncommon. One report said we had 9 of them at one time. And I should mention that we also had a couple of also uncommon Tennessee Warblers. So it wasn't a total waste of time. But still I hoped Mr. Hoodie would return.

Light colored Baltimore Oriole young male

Vivid orange adult male Baltimore Oriole

Uncommon winter visitor--Tennessee Warbler

A day or two later I looked out the kitchen window and he was back! I let Richard know and he came right over and was able to take some nice photos through the window. At least I hadn't imagined a rare bird. And the day after that Richard sat in the yard for a while and was able to get some wonderful photos of Hoodini tussling with Baltimore Orioles over the jelly dish. I was pretty jealous though. I had only gotten blurry, terrible pictures and this was my house! My problem was that he was so skittish that just moving my camera near a window scared him away. And he never stayed for long. And if I went outside it would take a long time for all the birds to calm down again after opening the doors. But I waited patiently. More visitors came. At one point someone called the UGA campus police to report suspicious looking people with binoculars. When the police were told what was going on they thought it was neat and we didn't have any more problems. I hadn't thought of notifying my neighbors, so I talked to some and wrote up a note to leave with my contact info. There were no police complaints after that.  

Finally a nice photo! Soooo pretty!

Most of my shots looked like this

As Hoodini got more comfortable in the yard, he started spending more time at the front yard feeders, which was better for visitors and gave me my best viewing spot from inside the house and I finally got some beautiful photos of him. My daughter and granddaughter were able to see him, which made me happy. The visitors who came were very appreciative and courteous. I saw some people day after day, hoping to get a peek at him. One group of young guys set up across the street with lawn chairs. People came from as far as Atlanta. One man set up his tripod in the back yard and stood in a light rain for hours, just waiting. Finally he moved to the front yard, where he met another couple of people who were hoping to see him. I went out to say hi and just then, Hoodini made his appearance! High fives all around. People offered to help me pay for jelly. Richard brought me a jar (the fancy stuff) and a nice note. It was all pretty great. We did not get a huge number of people because many had their chance to see him last year. But there were enough that it felt like an event. 

Success at last!

The Celebrity

For the next few weeks the Hooded Oriole came to our yard every day. I only saw him once or twice each day, and there's no telling if he was visiting one of the feeders that I wasn't watching at the time. I couldn't be everywhere and all at once! The other orioles were around all day, usually from about 8am to 4pm, bouncing from station to station. I have no idea where Hoodini went when he wasn't with me. No one else reported seeing him in their yard. Was he like a stray cat, visiting all the feeders in the area? Was he just hanging out in the bushes somewhere? I have no idea. 

Taking turns at the jelly with a female Baltimore Oriole

The last part of January brought unseasonably cold and wintery weather to Athens. Temperatures dipped into the teens and one weekend we had a freezing rain. I kept the jelly dishes full as well as I could, and Mr. Hooded Oriole came to feed with the rest of the gang. Jelly is a quick energy source for lots of birds, especially when it is cold. In addition to Orioles, we regularly see Orange-crowned Warblers, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Mockingbirds, Cardinals, Cowbirds, and later in the spring, Catbirds, all enjoying the jelly. This year we also had the Tennessee Warbler, and I watched Red-winged Blackbirds helping themselves when it was especially cold. It stayed icy and cold for the week and the next weekend it snowed a few inches--lots of winter for our area. 

Icy tree branches. Everything outside was slick.

There was even ice on the birds

Yellow-rumped Warbler

Red-winged Blackbirds prefer birdseed but will eat jelly when they're hungry

Cardinals won't pass up a sweet burst of energy

I guess the birds hunkered down and took shelter in bushes or leafy trees in the icy rain and snow. When there was a break in the snow I saw lots of activity at all the feeders as the birds refueled so they could maintain their warmth and energy. Baltimore Orioles will also eat seed and suet and even camellia flowers (possibly for the nectar?), though I never observed Hoodini eating anything other than jelly. In the wild, Hooded Warblers eat insects, but those are hard to find in the snow. I didn't see him again until the next day after the snow had ended. He came and ate a few times, and then he was gone. I haven't seen him since February 1. 

Two Baltimore Orioles bickering over the jelly while the snow falls

He showed up one last time the day after the snow storm. This is my last photo.

I have watched for him every day for a month. I guess he has moved on, but I worry about him. He does not have the safety of a flock of other Hooded Orioles to travel with. Though he interacted with the Baltimore Orioles, he was not part of their group. Several times I saw a neighbor's cat prowling in the yard and it gave me a start. I shooed it away, but I know it could come back another time. I think I saw fox tracks in the snow. I also saw a Cooper's Hawk in the front yard, eyeing the feeders. They hunt birds in our yard all the time. A Red-tailed Hawk in the back yard had the local birds spooked for a while until they realized it was busy eating its squirrel, and they went about their business. I hope Hoodini is safe. I hope he has moved to some place with lots of bugs and jelly. I hope I see him again (or maybe I don't, because he doesn't belong in Georgia, so far away from his native range and fellow Hooded Orioles). But for one month it was nice to have something magical to take my mind off all the awful stuff going on in our country and in the world. Fare thee well, my beautiful hooded friend. 

Fall-ing in Love Again

American Lady with Blue Mistflowers and Rudbeckia

I am so happy that Fall is here. I'm not talking about pumpkin spice or sweater weather. I love fall because this is when the wildflowers are at their peak and the butterflies arrive in force. The bees and wasps will have been busy all summer, but the butterflies like to wait until the flowers are at their tastiest and most beautiful. It's my favorite time to lead kids on hikes at the Nature Center. We see so much! Spiders, caterpillars, butterflies, stick bugs, mantises. Fall is full of life. I learned to love fall wildflowers when we lived in Florida and I worked at Morningside Nature Center. I got to know the flowers of the Longleaf Pine Sandhill there, which is one of the most beautiful things ever. Click here to read my blog about it: https://earthteachme.blogspot.com/2013/09/morningside.html I started my flower garden at home to attract butterflies when I saw how they loved the wildflowers in the sandhill. The flower show in our garden starts small in the spring with welcome but small sprouts of green and flashes of yellow and pink. But by fall it is a mad burst of purple and gold, tall stems tumbling over each other. I could barely walk the path through the middle of the garden today because it had grown so thick. But the result is a moving carpet of rainbow colors, buzzing, fluttering, and chirping. The birds, rabbits, squirrels and deer love it too. 

Katydid

Fall is the time that I get to step back and just admire and enjoy the fruits of my labors. It's my reward for the sweaty work planting, watering and weeding that I do in the spring and summer, though admittedly, nature does most of the work. It's a joy to just step out the front door and be surrounded by such beauty. I take far too many pictures. It makes me happy to see other people pass by the yard and stop for a picture of their own. A runner yesterday waved and said "¡Que Rico!" and blew kisses to the flowers. It makes me feel good to provide a nature sanctuary on a busy corner where campus buses drive by every few minutes and commuters line up at the beginning and end of their day. I love this garden.

On the Bus Route--Goldenrod and Asters Abound

American Lady, Blue Mistflower, and the Commuters

Fall is also hurricane season. It's been a wild week. On Thursday we watched the destruction in Florida as hurricane Helene grew to a category 4 storm.We anxiously waited for it to roar over the top of Athens during the night. I took pictures of the garden on Thursday, fully expecting that it would all be smashed flat by the storm the next day. But Friday morning we woke to light rain and some wind gusts and found that we had come through mercifully unscathed. The storm had taken a more easterly path. But then we saw the terrible damage as it tore through up the eastern half of the state and up to the Carolinas, Tennessee and Kentucky. There was some damage in our town, but nothing like what happened all around us. We feel very lucky--the devastation and loss is shocking. Some of those communities will never be the same again. Our garden was untouched.

The Day Before the Storm 

Then on Sunday we started getting reports of a toxic chemical fire in Conyers, about 40 miles to the west, and to be prepared to stay inside with windows closed if the chemical cloud started to drift our way. Luckily the fire seems to be under control and the cloud has not made it here yet, though it looks like the toxicity would be diluted by the wind by the time it got here if it did. But 17,000 people were told to evacuate, many to Athens. Crazy. What's next? An asteroid? Volcano?

Not smelling any chlorine because the toxic cloud was far away, I took a walk around Lake Herrick, where I used to walk all the time and in January had started writing about for an exercise in exploring place. I've been avoiding going there--it just makes me sad since the nursing student was murdered there in February (see previous blogs). I hadn't been there since June. I decided to go see if I could find any of the birds that had been reported after the hurricane (I didn't). It was nice to walk the trails again, but it still felt sad. This summer the university installed numerous emergency call boxes throughout the woods as a safety measure. I understand why they put them in, but for me, seeing the bright red light in the woods just reminds me that it is a sad place. I'm just not sure I can write about my connection to the place any more. I get distracted by the misery. So I am letting that "Journey in Place" project go. I'll certainly go back to Lake Herrick over and over again. But reflecting on my feelings there is too sad, and I feel like having the project hanging over me has been a burden that kept me from being able to write at all. I've been stuck. But walking home from Lake Herrick, I saw my garden up ahead in the distance, all full of movement and life, and I felt relief, and the urge to write about it. Just the nudge I needed. Thank you, garden, for giving me joy, beauty, and peace.

Pearl Crescent on Rudbeckia

Cabbage White on Blue Mistflower

Yellow Collared Scape Moth on Blue Mistflower

Fiery Skipper on Blue Mistflower

Buckeye on Blue Mistflower

American Snout on Blue Mistflower

Ocola Skipper on Blue Mistflower

Swamp Sunflower

Leafcutter Bee on Blue Mistflower

Ailanthus Webworm Moth on Blue Mistflower

Georgia Aster

First Monarch of Fall

My Myth--"The Dancers"

For our 4th Journey in Place exploration with Janisse Ray, we were asked to write a myth about something we encountered in our place. Last week I came across this huge oak tree with three trunks. Somehow, in the years that I have been walking these trails, I had never noticed it before. I guess it was waiting for  the right time to reveal its story. Here's my myth--"The Dancers":

Long ago, when humans were very new and just learning, and the earth and its living things were already old, people still understood the language of nature. The people lived in harmony with the earth and its creatures. They shared food and warmth and knowledge. When the people were cold the weaver birds taught them to form fiber into clothing and baskets to hold their food. When the people were hungry the birds and other forest animals showed them where to find seeds and roots to eat. The wasps taught them to build clay pots to cook and carry water. The ants taught them to farm so they could grow their own food. Humans and the other living things shared news of coming storms and dry seasons, when to expect the fruits and migrations and the changing tides. And every month under the light of the full moon, they danced together, sharing their gratitude and friendship. 

Over the years, as they learned more, the humans became enamored with their own skills and tools, and in time they forgot how to listen to the earth. No longer could they hear the signs of the changing seasons and weather. The people became separate from the other living things. They thought they no longer needed to share with the earth and they built vast cities where they once danced together in the moonlight. All that is, but three women, who chose to keep to the old ways. They lived lightly on the earth, and joined the forest creatures to dance on a hilltop every month, loving and thanking their earthly companions. And when the women finally became too old to dance any longer, they grew roots from the soles of their feet and their arms reached for the stars and the moon and they became three trunks of a tall oak tree, growing leaves and acorns to shelter and feed the forest, and dancing together through time. 

This is the Place

This is "My Place"

I just began a year-long online project, "Journey in Place" with author, Janisse Ray. The purpose of the project is for the participants to create connection and relationship with a place-- a yard, a park, a city or a region. As Janisse explains, we have become "placeless people" who have lost our ties to the earth we live on and the natural processes around us. We will be going through weekly exercises designed to help familiarize ourselves with a place, whether it be a yard, a park, or a region, and form deeper connections. (You can sign up too by subscribing to her "Trackless Wild" Substack newsletter.)

Woodsy Trail

I'm excited about this project because "place" has been on my mind for some time now. In fact, I wrote a blog about this nearly 10 years ago when I lived in Florida. ("A Sense of Place"--click here to read) I now live in Georgia, very far from where I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, and after 8 years here, I still feel like an outsider. I have not lived in Utah for 35 years, yet, when someone asks where I am from, I always want to say "Utah". My roots are there. But Utah is not my home any more. Many of my people that connected me to the state have died or moved away. The city and region have grown so much that I hardly recognize it. The Great Salt Lake is drying up, which breaks my heart. I don't think I could ever move back because the place has changed and I've changed. But there's still this familiarity and the memories. The mountains. The smell of summer. The hard, dry dirt. It's complicated. I live in Georgia but I'm from Utah.

Wasatch Mountains behind the Salt Lake Valley (Taken through a window--excuse the glare)

I will never be able to match the ancestral yearning that I feel when I look at the Wasatch Mountains that rise behind the Salt Lake valley in another place. But I want to get to know rivers, stone outcrops and red clay where I live now. I want to know about the rainfall and temperature patterns. Is this a hard winter? When is the typical rainy season? I want to know the plant, animal and insect cycles. I want to internalize the history of the land, the geology and the people. I want to grow deep roots. 

A Snail Eating Fungus

Curled Oak Leaves that look like clasped fingers

Cranefly Orchid Leaf--Greenery in Winter

Fungus rings an old log

My 1st task was to pick "my place" that I'll be coming to and getting to know throughout the year. I've read comments from other participants and some chose the land they and their families have lived on for generations, or their yard, or a river gorge. I decided to pick a recreation and nature park on the UGA campus, "Lake Herrick and Oconee Forest Park". It is special to me because it is part of my neighborhood, but also because of what it meant to me during Covid. In the early months of the pandemic, our city, like many others, shut everything down. The university closed and sent the students home, and they closed the State Botanical Garden, which is operated by the university. The City made the decision to close the parks and playgrounds to keep crowds from gathering. In the early weeks of the shut down, Lake Herrick was one of the only nature areas in town that was open to the public, and I walked there most days. In times when it felt like the world was falling to pieces, I found connection, refuge and solace walking through the woods and around the lake. As things eased up a bit, the other parks opened again for walking because we realized how important exercise and nature therapy were for us. People started venturing out again, and the university opened the parking garage next to the lake as a safe, socially distanced practice space for brass and woodwind musicians. I'll never forget the lonely sound of a trombone wafting over the lake as I walked one morning in December. It was a weird and difficult time.

Barred Owl Watching

Bloodroot Patch

Within our "place" we were instructed to find what I'm calling my "comfort spot"--a place that draws me and where I can come back to over and again for contemplation and reflection and close examination. I picked a spot on a hillside overlooking tall trees, with the lake in the distance. On one of my walks near here, I discovered a beautiful patch of white Bloodroot blooming on a quiet trail. It was like a finding a treasure.  Another morning I spotted a Barred owl perched near the Bloodroot trail. A couple of hawks were unhappy that it was there and made a noisy fuss. Nearby I watched as a Brown Creeper moved up and down the trunk of a pine tree, and across the road Pileated Woodpeckers tore chunks off of a log looking for grubs. I visited this spot the other day and saw a pair of Red-headed Woodpeckers. It was the first time I'd seen them in these woods for several years and I took it as a sign that this would be a good choice for my "comfort spot". As we say in Utah, "This is the Place". I look forward to getting to know it better. 

Wintery Steam

Mossy Log in my "Comfort Spot"

Looking through the trees at the lake below

Reflections on the Water

"This is the Place" Monument, Salt Lake City