Finding Home in the Little Things

On community, kindness, and the small moments that remind us where we belong.

Today, at around two o’clock in the afternoon, I had one of those moments where I stopped and thought about my day so far.

Nothing huge had happened.

But somehow, so much had.

My morning started with coffee with a friend. We talked about what was going on in our lives, bounced things off each other, worked through some problems and left feeling a little better than when we started.

Then another friend was going through something and needed someone there. Our daughters got to spend time playing together while I went to support her.

It wasn’t planned. Nobody made a big deal about it.

It was just friends helping friends.

And then I headed into Duncan.

Sometimes Free Really Is the Best Price

The Cowichan Exhibition is coming up, and right now I’m trying to save money anywhere I reasonably can. Preparing enough handmade inventory for an event that size isn’t cheap, and every dollar I don’t have to spend on displays is a dollar I can put toward materials and actually making things.

So when I heard Reitmans was giving away some jewelry displays they no longer needed, I was there.

They would otherwise have to pay someone to remove them, and eventually they could have ended up in the dump.

Instead, I could give them another life.

When I arrived and explained what I was going to use them for—my handmade business and my upcoming booth at the Cowichan Exhibition—the woman helping me seemed almost as excited about it as I was.

And I loved that.

Something that had finished serving its purpose for one person was exactly what someone else needed.

We started talking about the business, the Exhibition and the community here. She was encouraging and genuinely lovely to talk to.

It was supposed to be a simple pickup.

Instead, it became another connection.

And then I had to get the displays into my truck.

They were heavy.

Like, why did I think I could do this by myself? heavy.

As I was struggling, a woman walking past noticed me.

She stopped, put down what she was carrying and said,

“Hey honey, do you need some help?”

And then she helped me.

That’s it.

She didn’t know me. I hadn’t asked her. There was absolutely nothing in it for her.

She just saw another human being struggling with something ridiculously heavy and decided she wasn’t going to walk past.

Together, we wrestled everything into my truck.

She didn’t want anything.

Just a thank you and a smile.

Although in hindsight, I really should have bought that woman a beer.

People Noticing People

When I went back inside afterward, I told the story of the woman who had just helped me.

That turned into a conversation about something I’ve noticed again and again since living here.

People notice each other.

Someone walking down the street will tell a complete stranger that they love their outfit.

Someone will compliment another person’s smile.

Neighbours share what they grow, make or no longer need.

Friends help with each other’s children.

Local businesses encourage other little businesses.

People talk to one another.

And apparently, when you’re losing a battle with some very heavy jewelry displays in a parking lot, someone might put down their own things and help you.

There is something wonderfully human about it.

It’s women supporting women, absolutely.

But it’s bigger than that.

It’s people supporting people.

The Kind of Home We Were Looking For

Growing up on the mainland, I remember more of this when I was younger.

There was a feeling of community and connection that, over time, I felt slowly disappearing.

People got busier. Places got bigger. Everything seemed to move faster.

And somewhere along the way, it felt like we stopped talking to each other as much.

One of the reasons we wanted to move to a smaller community was because we wanted something different for our family.

We wanted our kids to grow up knowing their neighbours.

We wanted them to see people helping each other.

We wanted them to understand that community isn’t just the collection of houses and businesses surrounding you.

Community is something you participate in.

You have to talk to people.

You have to notice people.

You have to show up.

And sometimes you have to put down whatever you’re carrying and help a stranger lift something into her truck.

Today reminded me that this is the kind of place we were hoping to find.

Finding Home in the Little Things

By two o’clock today, I had sat over coffee helping a friend while she helped me.

Another friend had helped with my daughter so I could be there for someone else.

Our girls had spent time together.

A local business had given me something they no longer needed so I could reuse it for something I’m building.

A woman I’d just met had encouraged me and been excited about what I was creating.

And a complete stranger had stopped what she was doing to help me.

None of these were grand gestures.

That’s the part I keep coming back to.

They were little things.

Coffee.

A conversation.

Kids playing.

A few old displays getting a second life.

A stranger offering an extra set of hands.

A thank you.

A smile.

But maybe that’s exactly what community is.

Maybe home isn’t only the house you live in or the town written on your address.

Maybe it’s built slowly through hundreds of these tiny interactions.

It’s knowing someone will take your child when another friend needs you.

It’s neighbours sharing what they have.

It’s people remembering your name.

It’s talking to someone you’ve never met before.

It’s offering help without wondering what’s in it for you.

It’s noticing each other.

“Finding beauty in the little things” has become such an important part of Seaside Magnolia and the things I create.

But lately I’m realizing it describes much more than my art.

It’s becoming a way I look at life.

Because the little things aren’t really little when you start adding them together.

They’re friendships.

They’re memories.

They’re community.

They’re the things our children grow up seeing and, hopefully, carry with them.

They’re the things that make somewhere feel like it belongs to you—and that you belong to it.

They’re the things that make a place feel like home.

Today was a beautiful reminder that we found ours.

And somehow, when I realized all of this, it was only two o’clock in the afternoon.

Oh—and somewhere in the middle of all that community reflection, I bought a dress.

Don’t tell my husband.