Running Away to the Wild Things - May 30, 2026

This morning, I set out early with Finnegan and my Aunt to go birding.

Truthfully, I needed to run away from life for a little while. Not in any dramatic way — just in the way the heart sometimes needs to step outside, breathe fresh air, and spend time with wildlife. Nature has a way of making the world feel softer, even when life feels heavy.

And, as usual, wildlife had a few surprises waiting for me.

At our first stop, before I had even really settled into birding mode, I was greeted by a wild rabbit having breakfast in a patch of yellow buttercups. It was completely unbothered by me. No panic. No hopping away. Just a calm little rabbit munching away as if it owned the place.

At one point, it even turned around and gave me the cutest look while still chewing, almost like it was thinking, If I just keep eating, maybe she’ll go away.

I laughed, took a few photos, and thanked it for its time before moving on.

Watching the wild rabbit eating weeds among the yellow buttercups felt like nature offering me a soft little reminder: take what nourishes you, even if the world calls it ordinary. The rabbit wasn’t rushing. It wasn’t worried about being impressive. It was simply present, quietly enjoying its breakfast in the middle of the morning light. To me, it felt like a message to slow down and find comfort in small, simple things, a patch of flowers, a quiet moment, a little bit of food, a safe place to pause. Sometimes healing doesn’t arrive loudly. Sometimes it looks like a rabbit in the weeds, calmly reminding you that life can still be tender.

The day before, I had spotted a Purple Martin nesting box area near a lagoon, so that was my next stop. I was excited to see if I could photograph the martins again. They were there, flying around and sitting near their nesting boxes, but the morning light was intense. The sun was so bright and the sky was so white that it made capturing detail really difficult.

I managed to get a few photos of the Purple Martins sitting outside their nesting boxes, but I already know this is a place I’ll need to return to around sunset. I think the warmer light might help bring out their beautiful details in a way the harsh morning sun just wouldn’t allow.

As I was looking around for other birds, I spotted a little yellow warbler of some kind picking at some fluff. It was far away, and with my 400mm lens, I still couldn’t quite get close enough for the photo I wanted. Add in Finnegan pulling on his leash, and the photos I did manage to capture turned out a little blurry.

But honestly, sometimes the photo isn’t the whole point.

I stood there and watched this tiny bright bird move through the landscape, and I couldn’t help thinking how wild it is that birds that look almost tropical are right here in British Columbia. You don’t expect that kind of colour in an urban city, and yet there it was, a little flash of yellow magic.

Next, a Great Blue Heron landed along the beach before taking off as people approached from the other side.

Watching the Great Blue Heron take off felt like nature whispering, you will know when it is time to move. One moment it was grounded along the shoreline, patient and still, and the next it lifted those enormous wings and rose into the air with such ancient grace. To me, it felt like a reminder that stillness is not the same as being stuck. Sometimes we are gathering strength. Sometimes we are listening. Sometimes we are waiting for the right opening. And when the moment comes, we don’t have to force it, we simply spread our wings and trust ourselves enough to rise.

Then I spotted another heron along the shoreline, patiently hunting for dinner.

And then another one appeared.

I watched a Great Blue Heron battle the wind along the shoreline, its long feathers lifting and shifting as it searched for dinner. There is something almost prehistoric about these birds, the sharp focus in their eyes, the slow deliberate steps, the enormous wings that unfold like something from another time.

They feel like living dinosaurs, ancient and elegant, quietly hunting beside us in the middle of our cities. It still amazes me that creatures this wild and extraordinary share our urban shorelines, reminding us that nature has not disappeared, it is right here, standing in the wind.

One heron is always a gift. Several herons in one morning feels like nature being extra generous.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, I spotted something that stopped me completely: a black Brewer’s Blackbird feeding a nestling on a log.

One of my favourite moments of the morning was watching a male Brewer’s Blackbird feed a nestling on a log. He carefully delivered food to the demanding little youngster, then paused for a moment and stared off into space like he was seriously questioning every life choice that had led him to this point. Parenting in the bird world clearly comes with no coffee breaks. After his brief existential crisis, he gathered himself, took off, and went right back to work, a tiny urban wildlife drama playing out in front of me.

It was such an incredible little moment. Quiet, tender, and easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. The kind of wildlife moment that reminds me why I keep going out with my camera, even when the light is difficult or the photos don’t turn out perfectly.

Then, from overhead, I heard my Aunt call out: “Eagle! Turkey Vulture! Look up!”

So I looked up.

Above us were two Bald Eagles soaring through the sky, joined by four or five Turkey Vultures circling on the thermals.

Bald Eagle

Turkey Vulture

Incredible.

Absolutely incredible.

And all of this was happening in an urban city.

That’s the thing I keep coming back to again and again. You don’t have to travel somewhere remote or exotic to witness wildness. Sometimes it is right above you, riding the wind. Sometimes it is in a lagoon, on a log, tucked into buttercups, or sitting quietly on a sports field.

After that, we headed to another location and spotted finches, sparrows, and Mourning Doves feeding on seed along a farm road. We stopped and took a few photos, though once again the sky was bright and challenging. Not every stop gives you perfect conditions, but every stop seems to offer something worth noticing.

Last but not least, we went to check a local osprey spot.

And we were not disappointed.

One of the ospreys was sitting on the sports field in the sun, calmly looking around. The photos weren’t perfect because of the heat haze coming off the field, and I was shooting through a fence, but the moment itself was incredible.

Seeing the osprey sitting quietly on the sports field felt like a message I needed. Ospreys are hunters of focus, patience, and precision, birds that rise above the noise, watch carefully, and know when to act. But this one wasn’t soaring or diving. It was simply sitting in the middle of an ordinary urban field, reminding me that strength does not always have to look dramatic. Sometimes the message is to pause, gather yourself, and trust that you are still powerful even when you are resting. With Finnegan at my feet, it felt like a gentle reminder that I don’t always have to chase the perfect photo or the perfect moment. Sometimes it is enough to simply witness, breathe, and be exactly where I am.

There I was, watching an osprey in the middle of the city, with Finnegan at my feet.

That is a pretty spectacular way to end a morning.

Overall, I didn’t come home with the kind of spectacular photos I had hoped for. The light was harsh, the sky was bright, the heat haze was tricky, and photographing birds with a curious dog on a leash definitely adds an extra layer of challenge.

But I did come home with something better.

I came home with the memory of a rabbit eating breakfast in buttercups. Purple Martins nesting near a lagoon. A tiny yellow warbler glowing like a little piece of sunshine. Great Blue Herons hunting along the shore. A Brewer’s Blackbird feeding its nestling. Bald Eagles and Turkey Vultures soaring overhead. Finches, sparrows, Mourning Doves, and an osprey sitting in the sun.

And I came home grateful. Grateful for Finnegan at my feet. Grateful for my Aunt beside me.

Grateful for wildlife that keeps showing up in the middle of everyday life. And grateful for mornings like this, when running away from life for a little while leads me right back to what matters.