First Warm Day of Spring: A Walk, A Breath, A Reset - April 29, 2026

Today felt like the first true breath of spring.

After a long workday where my mind felt noisy and scattered, Finn and I headed out in search of something simple, fresh air, a new park, and maybe a few birds to photograph. We chose a local city park we hadn’t explored before, drawn by the promise of blooming canola fields and the sounds of small birds calling from somewhere just out of sight.

And the canola did not disappoint.

Fields of bright yellow stretched out before us, each flower delicate and perfectly formed with four soft petals catching the light. It felt like stepping into sunshine.

Standing in the middle of those bright yellow canola fields, I couldn’t help but feel like I was surrounded by pure light. There’s something deeply symbolic about canola in bloom, it arrives after the cold, after the stillness, bursting into color when the world begins to wake up again. To me, it feels like a reminder of renewal… that even after heavy, foggy days, there is brightness waiting to return.

The vibrant yellow almost feels like joy made visible. A quiet nudge from nature that healing doesn’t have to be loud, it can be as simple as standing in a field, breathing it in, and letting a little bit of light find its way back in.

Did You Know?

Canola (Brassica napus) isn’t just a beautiful sign of spring—it’s one of Canada’s most important crops. The name “canola” actually stands for “Canadian oil, low acid,” referring to the edible oil made from its seeds.

Even more fascinating? Canola fields rely heavily on pollinators like honey bees. While canola can self-pollinate, bee activity can increase yields and improve seed quality, making those busy little foragers essential partners in the process.

 As I moved closer, I was lucky enough to spot a honey bee working one of the blossoms, completely absorbed in its task.

Its fuzzy thorax, striped abdomen, and steady focus made it unmistakable. Watching it forage for nectar and pollen felt grounding in a way that’s hard to explain, just a quiet moment of life doing what it’s meant to do.

At one point, we stopped on a little bridge over the Colquitz River, and Finn leaned over to watch the water rushing below like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Completely locked in. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. Was he contemplating jumping in? Trying to figure out where the water was going? Or just thinking, “If I drop a stick in there… is it gone forever?”

Meanwhile, I’m standing there overthinking life, and he’s just… vibing with a river.

Then, as if on cue, the sky came alive.

A Red-Tailed Hawk circled high above us, riding the thermals with ease.

Not long after, a Turkey Vulture drifted into view, wings stretched wide in that unmistakable V-shape.

And then something I’ve never seen before, a Great Blue Heron perched on a highway light post. Not near water, not tucked into reeds, but up there overlooking the world like it owned it. I had to laugh. Wildlife always finds a way to surprise me.

The small birds? Oh, they were there.

We could hear them everywhere, singing, rustling, calling, but not a single one wanted to be seen. It became part of the experience rather than a frustration. Sometimes birding is about listening more than seeing.

As we were walking along one of the trails, I spotted a bunny casually heading down the path like it had somewhere very important to be. I managed to lift my camera just in time and grabbed a quick shot. Out of instinct, I whispered “bunny,” and to my surprise, it froze. For a split second, we locked eyes. Then came the look… a perfect little side eye, like I had just mildly inconvenienced its entire day.

And just like that, see ya never.

Off it hopped down the trail, leaving me standing there laughing, camera in hand.

Still chasing that spark, we decided to head to another park where someone had reported baby wood ducklings. We didn’t find the ducklings this time, but the evening gave us something else instead, quiet moments with mallards and wood ducks. I was able to capture a few portraits, and honestly, it felt just as rewarding.

Female Wood Duck

Male Wood Duck

Male Mallard

Female Mallard

By then, the day had softened.

To wrap it all up, Finn and I headed to the ocean for fish and chips. We sat by the water, watching sailboats drift across the horizon, the light slowly fading into evening. It was calm, simple, and exactly what I needed.

Today reminded me of something important.

Even when the mind feels heavy and cluttered, nature has a way of gently pulling you back. You don’t need perfect conditions or rare sightings. Sometimes it’s just about showing up—walking, breathing, noticing.

Work, play, rest.

A perfect balance.

And I’m so grateful to live in a place where forests, mountains, and ocean are all within reach—where moments like this are always waiting.