When Spring Begins to Find You
Settling In, Season by Season
We’ve now completed seven months in our new neighborhood, and something has shifted.
We’re no longer arriving—we’re settling.
We came at the tail end of summer. We watched autumn ease in, endured our first coastal winter, and now find ourselves on the edge of spring… with another summer waiting just beyond it.
It feels like we’re finally seeing the full rhythm of this place.
A City Waking Up
There’s a noticeable energy returning to Victoria.
The seagulls are back—louder, more insistent. Soon, cruise ships will begin announcing their arrivals, and the Inner Harbour will take on that familiar hum of movement. Water taxis are expanding their routes. Seaplanes will follow.
Everything seems to be preparing.
Even the quiet spaces are changing. Across the street, our now-familiar deer family—six of them—has returned to their sunny patch of grass. Their heavy winter coats are giving way to lighter shades, a subtle shift that somehow feels symbolic. A new season. A new pace.
I understand that instinct more than I expected.
Signs Of Spring, Everywhere You Look
Victoria doesn’t ease into spring. She decorates for it.
Cherry blossoms are everywhere, softening streets and enhancing the already beautiful architecture. Flower beds are being refreshed across the city, including at what locals simply call “the Ledge”—the Parliament buildings. In fact, they are asking for volunteers on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. This community encourages volunteerism.
This morning, the first marathon of the season ran through our neighborhood, a stream of motion and color passing by as if the city itself had decided to get moving again.
And the peafowl at Beacon Hill Park?
They’ve had enough of winter. They’re back—perched on cars, strolling through paths, making themselves known. Subtlety is not their strength, and I guess it doesn’t need to be. Unless, of course, it is your car they are congregating on.
Small Details That Tell A Bigger Story
Even familiar landmarks are being renewed. Take for example, The Gate of Harmonious Interest, which announces the entrance to Chinatown. The gate spans Fisgard Street just off Government Street and has just been given a facelift. It’s always been impressive, but now it feels newly alive, as if it too is stepping into the season.
Restaurants are shifting menus, moving away from heavier winter fare. The entire city seems to be adjusting, quietly and collectively.
Other signs? The sound of seagulls has returned, and next month we will hear cruise lines announce their arrivals and departures. Water taxis are already adding more stops. Seaplanes too. Our deer family shows up more frequently across the street to lay on the sunny field of grass. Clearly, the six of them are shedding their thick, grayish-brown winter coat for a thinner, reddish-brown summer coat. A new lease on life. I get it.
The Distance You Don't See Coming
For all the beauty of this new chapter, there’s a quieter realization that comes with it.
The distance from where we were a year ago doesn’t just exist—it grows.
We stay connected with family and friends, but the nature of that connection changes. Texts replace calls. Quick check-ins stand in for long conversations. It’s not intentional it’s just easier. And sometimes, easier creates distance.
What we feel most is missing the everyday moments with our son. The simple things—grabbing dinner, seeing what he’s working on, hearing music drift from another room. Those are the moments you don’t realize you’ll miss until they’re no longer within reach.
Finding New Ways To Stay Close
So we adapt.
He calls several times a week, and together we’ve created a new tradition: a monthly movie night. Same film, same time—just 1,200 miles apart. We watch, compare notes, change our guesses about who the guilty party might be.
It’s not the same as being in the same room.
But it’s something. And it matters.
We even watched the Oscars together this way, tracking our picks online. I did better than usual, though I still lost. In fairness, he was watching from a home theatre he built with a friend. That friend happens to be an independent film producer, who somehow every year predicts every category with unsettling accuracy. Even the oddball ones. You know the kind – Asian Anime filmed in Tucson.
The Meaning Of "Home"
Bob spent several days in Seattle this week for routine medical appointments—his first time traveling with a suitcase and passport in quite a while. The days were long. The hotel room was welcome at night.
But nothing compared to the moment he stepped off the ferry coming back to Victoria. I was fortunate to be able to dash down to the bottom of our street to get a photo of his ferry arriving
I’ve never seen him happier to be home.
That word has taken on new meaning here.