Life, with the garden
Location: Victoria, British Columbia, Canada • • • Visit: May 2012
By Canadian standards, Victoria is old. It’s the capital of Vancouver Island, and really, very colorful and cute. On our first day in town, Frida, her friends and I strolled through Beacon Hill Park, the city park. It is big, considering that Victoria is quite small, and it is well kept and pruned and cut. Beautiful. Not wild, like Stanley Park in Vancouver, but neat.
Pretty soon, though, Frida, her friends and I, realized that we had totally different speeds. While the others were out on a brisk walk, I always looked for nice photos to take and could disappear into a bush without a word just to look at the tiny little flowers underneath. So eventually, when I imagined seeing irritated smiles on the other’s faces, we decided to split up. I’d continue with my slow explorations on my own, and then we’d meet up after lunch.
For the garden enthusiast, we had arrived on the Island at just the right time. Peak spring, and everything blooming. Everywhere. So much to capture with my camera.
The last part of the park, just down by the ocean, became more wild and unkept. There, I found a field of blue flowers and small oaks. A lovely spot. On a sign by the field, I learned that the beautiful blue flowers were called Great Camas and that they had been used by the First Nations on the island for many years. Down by the ocean, the wind was fresh and the coastline was made up of small beaches and flat rocks. And a crazy amounts of driftwood. I don’t understand where all that wood came from. Like huge, white tree skeletons, lying all across the beach.
Later, thinking it might rain the next day, I took a late walk through Victoria down to the water to catch the lights on the Parliament Building. Seen like that, it’s easy to see why the islanders are proud of their capital.
Walking back along Government Street, under the spring green trees, I was overcome by this feeling. The crowns of the trees were cut into balls, and there was blinking light bulbs on the branches, now half hidden behind the newly opened leaves. The night was mild and there was a soft texture to the air, which must have been due to the ocean. Not crisp, but fresh.
The kind of feeling that inspires me to write, a kind of solemness akin to spirituality. For a place to inspire that feeling, it must be quite special. It is a great compliment. I like Victoria.
Katja Malmborg 