With the threat of rain in the forecast, I tilled a patch of well-drained soil early this morning and planted a salad garden in it – spinach, Romaine and leaf lettuces, Swiss chard, beets, red onions, kale, radishes – with the hope of harvesting luscious, vitamin- and mineral-packed greens by early June. There’s something faintly miraculous about strolling out to my garden, collecting a basketful of chorophyll-drenched leaves and juicy roots, and then feasting on a heaping plateful of them for lunch, adorned with my favourite dressing.

While I raked and hoed and planted, a ruby-crowned kinglet, yellow-rumped warbler, and American robin serenaded me from the spruce trees to the north of the yard. Blue jays chimed ringing notes, a dark-eyed junco trilled, and a white-throated sparrow – an unusual addition to the avifauna of our yard, perhaps because we no longer have cats – tossed out its lively call. Mourning doves cooed, and a northern flicker rapped imperiously on a tree trunk.

Later, I weeded flower beds and caught some of my gardening companions with my camera – a pert junco and robin hopping on the lawn, a sleek, curvy female flicker probing her long, curved beak deep into the grasses, male and female purple finches snacking on black oil sunflower seeds in my feeder, and dusky-rose tinted mourning doves doing the same.

I spent the day outdoors, cherishing my yard, dreaming, and soaking up avian music and beauty.  There are few things in life as simultaneously peaceful and inspiring as gardening with the birds.