From 1990 to 2006 I was a Framer. Pain and depression left me no choice but to quit. I’ve tried my best to capture how I felt during the winter months. This is a tribute to some heroes of mine who do this everyday still. They are Nathan, Caleb, Matt, Sean and Ellie and all the other men and women who brave cold Canadian winters to provide for those they love.
“The first thing He hears is the wind gusting. As the gust hits it’s peak, it’s turns almost violent. A short burst, followed by brief silence and then an increasing whistling sound, leading up to the next gust.
This is the sound of hell. His mind quickly goes to the home he is framing. Are the walls braced? Did he stand any trusses? Was the wind bringing snow or freezing rain? He looks at his clock, it’s 2:00 AM. He tries to go back to sleep but the sleep is fitful as anxiety has gripped his body. Teeth clenched, toes curled. There is no true rest now.
The alarm goes off. It’s 6:00 now. Time to face a daybreak he’s dreaded for the last 4 hours. As he slips out of bed he feels the pangs from injured body parts. Knees. Back. Everything really. The dirty clothes he threw off yesterday are in a pile close to his bed; he slowly puts them on layer by layer.
A cold blast hits his face as he leaves the warmth of his home. After scraping his windshield he starts his truck. It’s coffee time and he heads to the nearest drive through. The heat from the coffee is the first good thing to happen to him since he first heard the wind haunt him in the night.
Its -15, much colder with the windchill. No one can blame him for sitting in his truck as the clock ticks past the planned start time. It takes all the discipline he has to get out of his warm truck. Instantly his body is chilled. He knows the only way to stay warm is to work hard and so he starts rolling out tools as fast as he can.
Hoses and chords unroll, nailers get plugged in and lumber gets carried into place. Of course it’s never that easy, a gun is frozen and he solves his first problem presented to him on this cold miserable day.
As the day gets underway the sun rises and the work starts to get done; his mood slowly improves. His body is warm. There’s a high you get when you fight through things and succeed. Not unlike a runners high. He fights the wind, cold and snow all day, breaking for a lunch here and a coffee there. Carry, mark, cut, carry again and place and nail. It’s bloody hard work but he’s done it for a decade, muscle memory makes it almost easy. Almost. His body won’t start protesting till he stops.
His mind can’t help but drift to his kids, his partner, his family. He’s so tired of going home exhausted. It’s hard to stay up past 9:00 pm. He knows his partner wants to go out more, get more done around the house. She wants a family trip. None of it sounds good to him, heaven would be a day off with no guilt; no money spent. A day with his kids without being physically and mentally exhausted would be nice.
The sun sets and the harsh cold returns. The work day is done. The house has taken a new shape. There’s a real satisfaction in that. Creating something with your hands is extremely rewarding.
He is ravenous, and eats his supper quickly. The inevitable fatigue and pain starts to set in. He tells himself he will watch a show with his family, but he’s lying. He falls asleep, in his mind he is letting his family down.
He wakes up alone on a couch. He walks like a zombie to bed feeling like a failure. The wind and snow couldn’t break him but the sadness of feeling like he isn’t present enough for those he adores nearly kills him. He wants to cry but there is no point.
He falls into bed beside his sleeping partner. He notes he can’t hear the wind. Tomorrow could be better. God he hopes so. He wishes she knew how hard it was and why he does it. It’s not flowers, it’s not romantic, but as sure as there’s a frozen hell its love.”
If you read this far thank you,
Tris.
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