Making a garden is rather like a painter creating a great picture. Both take time, materials, and experimentation until everything comes together in fulfillment of a vision.

Our property, which is on the edge of Broad Ripple, had been part of an old farm. In 1928 it was a cornfield with nary a sapling; today it is a wooded acre and a half. The joy of developing my plot has been collecting the specimens. We gathered tender young pines from Mackinaw City, MI, woodland undergrowth trees from Noblesville where land was being cleared for housing, and a special red bud tree from Irvington from the late Dorothy White, a long-time president of the Audubon Society. We also have kept one mighty oak that a neighborhood squirrel so thoughtfully planted and never reclaimed.

My plants are from all over - nurseries, friends, and neighbors. My hosta collection is half purchased and half donated. In my yard, the giver's name replaces the true botanical name. My herbs are keepsakes from favorite people and wonderful Midwestern herb farms. Many perennials were transplanted from my mother's garden just before she moved to a retirement community. I even have Memorial Day daisies whose seeds were provided by my husband's grandmother from Connecticut.

Little do the birds that feed in my garden know that they are part of a bi-coastal and multi-cultural design achieved by the bounty of a collected garden. They can sample berries from Michigan or flower seeds from Ohio and Illinois; They can also nest among trees from Kentucky and Georgia. Providing a habitat for our backyard birds is rewarding and never ending. The adventure comes with surprises and endless enjoyment.