Meet Palmer

Two years ago, he and his wife started a family in our palm tree.

Until then, we hadn't noticed wild birds this pretty in our neighborhood.

I did some research and learned he is a Hooded Oriole. And if you know baseball, you'd understand why husby named him Palmer

(and it's not because the preferred tree for nesting is a palm).

In any case, Palmer and Mrs. Palmer would keep us entertained

with many trips flying back and forth to feed their little ones.

When the babies got older, the chirping as they vied to be fed would
wake us. Or be loud enough to disrupt our weekend coffee on the patio.

This was not pleasing to husby.

But when I explained the young birds were merely in their

noisy "teenager" phase and would soon be leaving home,
he seemed quite willing to put up with the racket.

Thank goodness I guessed correctly. The fledglings left after a week of especially boisterous teenage angst.

Before that, if he wasn't feeding his brood or helping to clean,
Palmer would be on guard.

It might be lonely.

Or cold.

But no matter. You can count on Palmer always at the ready.

To take off like a supersonic fighter jet with afterburners on,
should a blackbird or mockingbird stray near his family.
I have no pictures of that because he's much too fast.
It's a sight to see: a small yellow bird going after birds two or
three times its size with such determination.

So on this father's day, I want to wish a good one
to all the Palmers out there.

And a very special salute to you, dad!