When I moved to the center of Old Town four years ago, I doubted I’d see the birds I took for granted when I lived in less populated areas of the state. I assumed I’d be stuck with sparrows and starlings and would have to make special out-of-town trips to see anything else.

In Blue Hill, it was no surprise to look out my bathroom window and see a northern parula warbler foraging among the treetops, or to look out my kitchen window to see an indigo bunting underneath the feeder. Ruffed grouse came to my back yard to eat dandelion leaves, and every evening I’d hear an American bittern giving its unbirdlike call, “gunk-a-lunking” down at the marsh by Noyes Pond. Whippoorwills added their voices to the nightly serenade.

I hadn’t lived in anything approaching a city since I’d moved from New Jersey in 1995, and I wasn’t looking forward to being surrounded by houses and noisy neighbors again. However, commuting distance, a rapidly aging car, and financial reasons dictated that I move closer to the university, where I am pursuing a journalism degree.

How wrong I was – at least about the bird life – in this area (unfortunately I wasn’t wrong about the noisy neighbors). I might not be seeing the same visitors up close to my house as I did in Blue Hill, but I am still pleasantly surprised when I look outside.

I put up a hummingbird feeder near my kitchen window, and eventually the hummers were coming to sip. And it wasn’t only hummers – soon a male Baltimore oriole was making regular stops during his rounds of the neighborhood.

I’d hear his clear, loud whistles getting closer as he stopped at certain locations, reinforcing the perimeter of his territory. Then I’d hear him suddenly from the tree in the back yard; after giving a short song, he’d alight on a feeder perch to drink the sugar-water solution. Once he let loose with a few notes while there, and the sound – big and boisterous – filled the house.

It was always funny to watch the reactions of the hummingbirds at this filching of their food source. I had read about how territorial they are – it is said they will not hesitate to chase other birds, bees and even humans from their area. However, they seemed quite intimidated by the oriole.

I’d watch a male hummer approach and flash his red throat feathers, swinging back and forth in a threat display. The oriole hardly noticed. The hummer zoomed in closer, but suddenly made an about-face and flew back to his tree, leaving the oriole to finish his treat. I wondered if the oriole’s coloring had anything to do with dissuading the hummer; his bright, almost neon-orange chest may have signaled a giant “Go ahead, make my day” sort of message.

Living in the middle of Old Town isn’t so bad after all.

Chris Corio, a volunteer at Fields Pond Nature Center, can be reached at fieldspond@juno.com.