Growing up in Richmond, just a stones throw from Steveston Village, has certainly provided me with an eclectic set of memories.
My first bike ride on the dike, black berry picking by the old golf course, and jumping ditches for hours with my best friend Jenny.
But some of the clearest moments in my head are that of our childhood trips to the docks to buy fresh fish from the fishermen.
The gentle slope of the ramp down to the dock that seemed so much steeper as a toddler, I insisted on holding at least one parents hand until I was a little older.
The weigh scales on the boats and how they packed the fish in a clear plastic bag to take it home. My sister and I used to poke the fish in the eyes from the back seat – it had a consistency like jello that fascinated us.
I remember the ropes of small coloured buoys all coiled up alongside the boats, traps stacked high and nets rolled up waiting for the next trip out.
I have challenged myself to go out once a week and create a photograph, or a photo essay, that simply is because it is. For beauty, for practice, to remind myself to keep my eyes open at all times to the wonder in this world. This last week the challenge took me home to Richmond, to my childhood memories, and I am grateful.