Seasons of Return

When I first moved to Vancouver Island in the summer of 2013, I was amazed to see wild blackberries growing everywhere—sprawling across roadsides, arching over fences, staining the earth deep purple. Back then, I didn’t know the difference between native and invasive species. I just knew that, where I came from, blackberries were sold by the tiny plastic pint for far too much money—and devoured in seconds by my kids.

Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to learn more about the rhythms of this land. The berry cycle here on the West Coast has long marked time for the people who belong to this place. In the spring, salmonberries signal the salmon’s return. Then come the red huckleberries, thimbleberries, and native blackberries—not the Himalayan kind I first saw—and finally, salal. These berries aren’t just food; they’re family, part of a cycle that’s both ecological and cultural.

Jared Qwustenuxun Williams, a Knowledge Keeper from Quw’utsun, shared something during a presentation last year that has stayed with me:

“We are the environment.”

Not part of it. Not separate from it. We are it.

And when I think of the berry cycle—how every year, no matter what, the berries return—I think of Indigenous Peoples. I think of all the ways colonial systems have tried to suppress, control, extract, and erase. And how, again and again, culture, language, family, ceremony, and community push through the cracks. Like berries through asphalt. Like roots gripping into rock.

There is a quiet defiance in that.

A kind of beauty that refuses to be destroyed.

Resilience is not just something we admire in people. It’s a quality of the land, and the ones who live in close relationship with it. It’s in the return of the berries, the teachings of the Elders, the laughter of the little ones who gather them.

And it’s in the reminder that healing isn’t linear or tidy—it’s cyclical.It comes in seasons.It returns when it’s ready.And it’s always waiting to be received.

🧡 Kim