In Case of Rut, Break Habit
Forest loops, market mornings, subtle changes, and a visual essay on moving.
Not the Usual
We need to catch the 9am ferry. It’s 8:45. We’re not going to make it.
My fault. I got caught up cleaning my camera sensor and being my usual chaotic morning self. No single disaster, just the domino effect. Corey’s gripping the wheel as we take the final curve and spot the ramp still down.
“We’re gonna make it,” I say—surprised, but trying not to jinx it.
And just like that, we’re on our way to Taystay'ich—Denman Island, swaying gently through the ten-minute crossing as the morning sun begins to warm everything up.
A small Gulf Island with 1,391 people calling it home. It has a bookshop I love, a general store, a post office, and—important for this day trip—a Saturday market we’ve been meaning to get to. With only a couple months left of living on the island, we’re suddenly rushing to do all the things we kept saying we’d get around to. This market, at this point, has lore.
The most famous of them was the great canoe attempt of last summer. We misread the map and thought we could just land, walk 2km, and be there. In reality, we were 10km off. I’ll blame that planning snafu on Corey. It turned into a full-day trek across the island. We met a kind stranger who gave us muffins, caught the free red shuttle bus (called The Crab), and still missed the market.
So this time, I insisted we do it properly via the ferry.
We weren’t disappointed. The market was exactly what you'd hope for in a small village—friendly, warm, chatty. Tucked into a forest that brings shade on a hot day. We talked to vendors about their kids, family visiting, and why we were finally there after years of failed attempts.
What I didn’t expect was the reuse store. Free (donations welcome). Filled with clothes, kitchen stuff, books, and more. Items organised with care, a touch of dust on shoes waiting for a new home, all tucked into a cellar-style basement with low ceilings and open windows to bring in fresh air.
Locals popped in to browse, while kids built themselves costumes in between the aisles. It all felt warm—like the living room of the island. I couldn’t help but keep thinking how rare that kind of everyday magic is. Clearly, the Saturday market isn’t just about buying things—it’s an excuse to show up, see your neighbours, lay out a picnic blanket, and let the kids run wild. Why not?
The rest of the day was spent circumventing the island—pulling over for loop trails, forest paths, beach visits, and, of course, a stop at the bookshop. Everything was meandering, unplanned, and calm.
Which, really, was the whole point.
Habits help. They keep life moving, reduce friction, save energy. But the same routines that smooth the edges can also wear things thin. It’s easy to slip into rhythms that leave no room for surprise.
That’s why it matters. Taking the ferry. Choosing the unmarked trail. Wandering into the reuse centre even when you don’t need a thing. It doesn’t have to be a big plan. It just has to be not the usual.
Take a different route. Sit in a different seat. Try the coffee shop you always walk past.
These tiny shifts are how we remember we’re here—still alive, still paying attention.
Maybe that’s how we slow time down.
Not by doing more, but by noticing better.
Moments from Denman Island
Leaving a Place That Made Me Creative
Video Essay
I've been wanting to make videos for a long time. Over the years, I've filmed countless little moments of life*, always intending to do something with them. Yet I never carved out the time to piece it all together. Recently, I've been exploring what kind of videos I truly enjoy creating. This piece combines old footage with an essay voiceover—it’s not flashy, but it felt good to make. It's more like a visual essay than anything else. I see it as part of a series documenting our move from Vancouver Island, finally giving purpose to all those clips I've been collecting on my phone.
*and yes, that means I have footage of the canoe adventure from last summer, and I am making a video with that!
Hey, you made it to the end, have a little secret for you!
Last year when we took The Crab bus, we were thrilled to learn they allowed well-behaved dogs. Indy, by that point, was completely over it. He gratefully climbed aboard and tucked up against Corey like he’d been riding buses his whole life. His first ever bus ride—and honestly, he nailed it
