A 3-foot-high mound of snow still stubbornly piled beneath the deck serves as a grim reminder of this past winter’s relentless brutality, and of the months spent shoveling, shoveling, shoveling.

So I smiled (make that grimaced) the other day when I finally put away the snow shovel only to break out the garden spade. No more snow shoveling (I hope) – it’s on to digging holes for 200 spruce and pine seedlings arriving next week, and to transplanting a batch of older trees from the nursery to their new home 100 yards away.

But the prelude to this task required construction of a 50-foot stone wall along the property line, with some boulders as big as a Barcalounger.

Moving these unwieldy fieldstones first meant dragging logs to use as prybar fulcrums and cribbing during their excavation.

Luckily (for me) my son, Tom, visiting from Minnesota, has been conscripted into what he calls the springtime gulag.

Truth be told, we have taken time out for bike rides, kayak trips, short hikes and visits to East Coast family and friends, but after a few weeks of forced labor I’m sure he’s longing to return to Lake Superior.

The outdoor toiling here, though arduous, has had its rewards.

The other day a shrill whistle overhead gave us pause.

“Look!” Tom exclaimed. A pair of osprey circled and swooped.

“Back for the season,” I said. The graceful birds have been nesting nearby for years, and they’re migratory return from southern climes confirms spring indeed has arrived, even if a lingering chill has kept us huddled in winter garb.

A day later, more high-pitch chirping interrupted our labor: Peeper frogs emerging from hibernation in vernal pools.

Only a week or so earlier up to 6 inches of granular snow covered the garden, and Tom decided all that white reflected rather than absorbed the sun’s rays, so he used a hoe to clear away the crust. Beneath the frozen layer a green shoot poked from the ground – garlic I planted last fall.

With luck, all 200 cloves will germinate into new bulbs, a bountiful crop. Speaking of crops, I’m already behind in putting in peas. Later, tomatoes, onions, peppers, kale, squash, Swiss chard and basil will go in the ground, along with half a dozen new blackberry bushes.

The blueberry bushes should start sprouting soon, and maybe this year I’ll finally be able to harvest table grapes if the blankety-blank beetles don’t get at them first.

Which reminds me, I left downhill a big pile of chopped-up leaves from my neighbor’s lawn that must be hauled up as mulch.

Also downhill are about six cords of firewood that I cut and split last fall to replenish the supply I continue to burn even now in early April. The cold weather just won’t let go.

Eventually, though, there will be warm, sunny days, perfect for lounging on the deck with a book.

By then, Tom will be back in Minnesota, guiding guests on kayak trips at the resort where he works. I hope to get back out there this summer, and maybe make it up to the Boundary Waters near Canada.

But for now we have another wall to build, and more trees to transplant. To every thing, there is a season.