First night at Bowen Island, and the sound coming up the hill is clip, clop… clip, clop, clip clop as a deer makes its way up the stairs leading from the ocean. It’s a natural path to them almost, following the contours of the hill and getting off when a nice piece of eating is to the side. Calm and collected deer still instinctively wary, but also aware that nothing has appeared on the island to endanger them yet. As quiet as any country side, the sounds float over the water from the mainland as a dull roar that fades to nothingness and then the chirping of crickets. A lone speedboat makes it’s way to Horseshoe Bay, bouncing on the wake of the last ferry and engines roaring to beat the darkening sea.
   This morning, the doe’s mate is lying on the hillside thoughtfully chewing and watching as their fawn makes its way along the edge of the garden nibbling away at the pieces that stick out beyond the fence. It’s 6:00am and the sun has yet to pop up over Cypress Mountain. After a cup of coffee, the layer of marine clouds creates a spectacular view from my new home while the buck stands up and stretches before heading off into the denser bush to check up on his family.