This morning, a brilliant flash of orange and black stopped me in my tracks—a Baltimore Oriole, in all its orange splendor. The sight instantly brought me back to a moment from this past Thanksgiving, one I’ll never forget.
It was a gray, rainy day, the kind that makes you want to stay in and savor the smells of roasting turkey and pumpkin pie. My dad and aunt were visiting for the holiday, and we were settling in when a loud thud rattled the house.
My dad called out, “George, a bird hit the door—I think it’s dead!”
I rushed to the French doors and saw her—a female Baltimore Oriole, motionless on her back, soaked by the cold rain, sprawled across the deck like a fallen leaf. But as I knelt closer, I saw her tiny chest still rising and falling. She was alive, just stunned.
I told everyone to give her a few minutes. Sometimes, birds just need to shake it off. But after five minutes, she still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t just watch her lie there in the pouring rain.
I gently scooped her up and placed her under the deck umbrella on a bed of dry paper towels, hoping to wick away some of the rain and offer a little warmth. Five more minutes passed—still nothing. She was likely slipping into shock and hypothermia.
So, I did something I’ll never forget—I picked her up and cupped her gently in my hands, wrapping my fingers around her soaked body with just her tiny head peeking out. I stood there in the rain, letting my body heat warm her.
Ten long minutes later, I slowly opened my hands.
Like a shot, she launched herself into the air. My dad and aunt gasped in disbelief. I couldn’t hear them, but the surprise on their faces said it all. She flew straight to our crabapple tree and perched there, drenched but alive.
And the next morning—believe it or not—she returned to that same tree, as if to say thank you. I remember thinking, You’re welcome, just come back in the spring with your mate.
I like to think we saved each other that day. She reminded us, on a day about gratitude, how much beauty there is in simple acts of kindness—and in second chances.
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