audentes Fortuna Iuvat
April 1 was the day I moved to Fernhaven, full time to concentrate on building the cabin. I had originally chosen Easter March 29th, but then I spent a few days with family and friends before the big “move”. So, the date became April Fool’s Day by chance. I was surprised that no one questioned it being this day, in that perhaps I was joking about moving, and it was all a prank. It all became real very quickly.
Slowly
My first book “Little Haven in the Woods”, explains in great detail the early stages of development, not so much because I wanted to make a step-by-step guide of how to build an outhouse, or a pumphouse, but to share how bewildering it was to not know anything and then realise there wasn’t anyone to help, or that I could pay to do it. Then to move beyond not knowing into a stage of learning and finally jumping in and just getting on with it. Luckily, in all cases, everything turned out OK, and even if there were moments of fear and frustration, I replaced them with satisfaction and joy at achieving the goal. It was and continues to be a massive learning curve, not about building but about how I operate emotionally.
I love to take on a challenge, but it has to have certain criteria to be worthy. It has to be something I have never done before, something that most people wouldn’t try, and something that others say is crazy or I cannot do. In fact, the more others believe it’s not possible, the more determined it makes me want to achieve it. I am very solutions driven and thrive on the challenge of creating a unique way to solve problems. But wanting these kinds of challenges is stressful on me and others close to me.
Doubts
It is not always fun and games, and many times I wonder if this time, it’s too big a challenge and I am so out of my depth I want to shut my eyes and wish it all away.
Being here at Fernhaven alone, getting up at 6 am, working all day, only a quick break, carrying heavy drywall sheets from the trailer into the cabin. Shouting at my trembling arms because they can’t lift the sheets where I need them. Annoyed at my incompetent brain when it translates my measurements wrong and I cut a piece of wood too short. When I fumble and drop a nail off the scaffold and make my tired legs climb down the 18 feet for the hundredth time that day. Force my hands to grab the handle as I shovel the millions of rocks that breed overnight when I try to rake and level the filled trench area.
Frustration
Then because I haven’t done as much as I hoped, I feel discouraged, tired physically and emotionally. Wiping the stinging tears from my eyes, I wish I was back in Canmore. But what would that solve? The cabin still needs to be completed. No one else is going to do it. I don’t want to explain all that to anyone, and have them say, well, it is too much. No one would expect you to do it alone. Well, I do hold myself to that expectation, and I would feel disappointed in myself if I gave up.
I have moments where I sit staring into the trees, wrists aching from operating tools, knees sore from going up and down scaffold, and arms like lead weights. Feeling sorry for myself, wishing I had someone with me who felt as enthusiastic about building the cabin, who has or can learn the skills, who wants to be here helping. Sometimes I wake, my body more tired than when I tried to go to sleep, thoughts buzzing of how to build the frame for the bathtub to fit.
Then there golden moments when the sun is shining, I spot a cluster of violets peeping through the green, or a new frond of bracken uncurling, pushing its way up through the grass. The flash of a white tail, as a deer bounds back into the trees. The chickadee whistles back at me and the robins’ song trills out in the fresh morning air and I wish there was someone here to experience those things too.
A surge of astonishment washed over me as I lifted my head from my work, taking in the breathtaking sight of the perfectly installed, honey-colored rows of knotty pine on the tongue-and-groove ceiling. For the record, Dave helped with the ceiling. I did not do it alone.
Internal Resources
This cabin is now substantial, it has rooms, and it’s warm and dry inside. There isn’t one tiny screw, piece of lumber, scrap of insulation that I haven’t touched multiple times, moving it, placing it, replacing it. I am overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment, knowing that I have the capability to convert a patch of forest into a livable space. Perhaps for a tradesperson or someone skilled in construction it is not a big deal, and they would take for granted their talent, but for someone who has not been taught, trained or done these things before, it is a big deal.
Reading this back it seems egotistical and
big-headed, but I truly am not trying to ‘toot my own horn’ but to explain that
it is not tangible items that dictate success.
I have nothing special, no skills, I don’t have a lot of money, I just have a belief that anything is possible, with hard work and consistent effort. You just have to give it a go and be OK with failing the first time but keeping going.
It is changing many things, in me I am learning more about my own emotions, how they drive me, and how stubborn I can be. I am at ease with embracing change.
But I do wonder how prepared am I to live with the consequences of my actions? Being away from what was my regular day to life home and work life. What else will change? What is the butterfly effect on everything around me?
“Fortune favours the bold” I've started so I've got to have the courage to see this through, there is no looking back with regret but forging ahead until it is finished. Then comes the stage of what happens next...
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