East Van Alleys

Some alleys ask you to keep walking. Others convince you to stay awhile.

This one is barely an alley at all. It’s short, tucked away, overflowing with pear trees, raspberries, blueberries, blooming flowers, and a little forested passage that felt like something from a storybook.

There was a light mist hanging in the air, just enough to make everything feel greener and quieter, like the city had decided to speak a little softer.

That’s where I met the person behind East Van Boulevard.

He’s soft spoken in the way people become when they’re comfortable enough not to fill every silence. Calm. Kind. Curious. We were just two dads standing in an alley, noticing whatever the conversation decided was worth noticing.

His seven month old daughter watched from her stroller while we talked, taking everything in with the serious expression babies reserve for adults doing something confusing.

Her dad handed her a raspberry from the alley. She took the tiniest bite, scrunched up her whole face, and looked betrayed by how sour it was. Two seconds that I’ll probably remember for years.

I think that’s what I’ve been chasing with this project. Not the perfect alley or photograph. Just the feeling that if you slow down long enough, people will tell you who they are without trying to.

We talked about unfinished alleys. The polished ones are beautiful, but the unfinished ones have character. They leave room for surprise, for fruit growing where nobody planned it, for conversations that happen because nobody is in a hurry.

Maybe people work that way too. East Van Boulevard, the boulevard gardens, and the walking tours aren’t really about documenting a neighbourhood. They’re about helping people feel connected to one. We also talked about becoming fathers. And about the people who brought them into the world. Watching your partner give birth changes something fundamental. It’s impossible to witness that kind of strength without walking away with a different understanding of what women carry, physically, emotionally, and often invisibly.

Maybe that’s why more fathers are choosing to share more of the early years. It doesn’t feel like reversing roles.

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