Lumber Or Timber

Mate, what do I know?

Driving into the lumber yard for the last time felt like a relief after a few weeks of intense visitations. To me it was a timber merchants but to my local chums it was the lumber yard. The lads that worked there somehow struggled to understand me properly and so I always had to speak with the king’s English. It made dropping the c bomb a bit more awkward as I was feigning being posh but really was a builder at heart. I felt liked though, just for being myself, and being British. I had never really thought of myself as that, but where it was who I was. I’d self depreciate by missing out the t in water and things like that. All of the people I met in Canada worked themselves into a little wholesomeness pit in my memory and I kept them safe there.

It was always full on until you were done. Then that wave of completion came over you and you knew you had done it. Free to enjoy the fruits of your labour. I had always been a project based person. I got joy from starting and finishing things. Working with my hands to build things that my hands and my being could end up enjoying later on down the road.

The process was long. Cleaning out dirty panels of the van with a wire brush in the cold - rust proofing exposed parts of that had been salt worn. The basic things first before you could build on your base. It was like a foundation - they needed to be strong and reliable. I never saw the point in doing things half heartedly. The splinters in my hands were staying put and with the same determination we continued to build.

The days were still short at the end of February back then. The sun would set around four but daylight would vanish behind the mountains at around two. Things needed to be done and I had no intention on waiting around. Our neighbours looked out of their windows occasionally, wondering what we were upto. An affable couple from Germany. They had moved to Canada a few years before and seemed to have found their feet. They too had a van - much less converted than ours - but they too dreamed. The dream of being out there, soaking it all in. Hemlocks and fresh mountain air.

Canada gave me enthusiasm. A young country in comparison to my home country - I rode the wave of enthusiasm. A builder shouted - majestic hair bro - one afternoon as I made my way home from the hardware store. With a spring in my step building our adventure vehicle became a mission but it was a mission for joy. I felt empowered and capable. Working with your hands had this potential. There were years that I had spent sad and depressed - I wallowed - with thoughts of action but a distinct lack of. Sinking saw blades into fresh timber, fastening planks and sanding and varnishing wood gave you a sense of success and achievement. Building something useful was such a primal achievement. Crafting an adventure vehicle kicked self doubt in the arse. It was possible.

We were planning a road trip around Washington state and to end up working on Vancouver Island after. One evening in March as the soft evening light made a walk to the pub a joy, we decided to head east and cross the continent. There weren’t many reasons to not do so. The prairies called.

Through the prairies we drove

Thanks for riding the wave

Steve