A Northern Flicker, a ground-foraging brown woodpecker with a lovely red cap, just landed in our yard and dug around for ants and worms. Earlier today I saw something new: an American Goldfinch drinking from a hummingbird feeder, with a friend sitting on a branch nearby until a feisty hummer ran them both off.

After a couple of years without any Great Blue Herons living and feeding on our river, which they have always have done in my lifetime, there are now two and sometimes three. All three flew together over our yard the other day and I felt like I was in Fred Flintstone’s backyard, their huge wingspan and loud rusty-hinge squawking casting ancient shadows as I looked up (mouth closed…always close your mouth when birds are flying over. You’re welcome.).

A juvenile American Robin, nearly as big as its parents and almost the same colour except for the speckled breast, bounced across the lawn at about 5:30 this morning, capably finding its own food, but still quietly calling for its parents to share what they were finding. Soon the youngster will be on its own, and the parents could easily set some more eggs this summer. It’s a dangerous world for baby birds, so this little family is a great success story.

My life list on the Merlin app sits at 36, all viewed from my yard. Such richness, the morning chorus this time of year filled with joyous conversations and hope.

I wonder what my chickens think of the sparrows who sometimes forage in their run, or the flocks of geese that honk overhead, or the noisy, feisty Blue Jays that rattle the mornings. My guess is that they don’t really pay any attention to other birds unless a danger call is broadcast, a warning that a hawk or eagle is in the area, and they take cover.

Otherwise, they are just busy being chickens, and that seems to be sound advice. Just be the bird you are meant to be.