Labor Vincit Omnia

There were four of us bent over in the morning sun, examining the ramp joint bolted to the end of the pier. Where there should have been a plate of steel flush up against the edge, was instead a three-eights of an inch gap. A gap, that the creaking ramp told us, was only going to get bigger. The solution was to weld two struts of steel to the end of the ramp and bolt them into the stringers with foot long deck bolts. Not a permanent fix, but it would buy us enough time. It was the last thing to be done on the pier, besides sweeping away the last vestiges of construction from the decking. Two months of work were going to end in a few hours. But I don't think we realized it at the time.

In the weeks since completion there have been several proverbial pats on the back from the higher ups to those who were involved in the project. People who campaigned for capital, folks who pushed permits through, and those of us on site who just sat up nights waiting for construction to start. But there's been a more nagging set of comments about the new pier swirling around. Folks who think it looks to much like other piers. That there's no piles for the rangers to stand on. That the railing "ruins" the pier. People seem to have forgotten the most important part of the project. After you boil away the congratulations and the complaints, one key factor deserves it's fair of recognition: the pricks who built the damn thing.

Pardon the language, but I figured I would refer to them in their own terms. It baffles my mind how people could overlook these guys. After all, how many of us out there could do what they did? But what did they do exactly? To sum up, in two months, eight guys built two entire piers. It was insanity. Crazy loud, messy, sometimes chaotic looking insanity. But I guess I loved every minute of it.

My dear friends that we at camp owe so much to carry on the tradition of driving pile and working full bore until the job was done. I've never seen something like that in my whole life. I grew up around people who knew the definition of hard work. Folks who didn't mind getting their hands and backs behind a job and doing what it took so those who followed would have something to rely upon. The crew that built the pier worked through rain, wind, beating sun, and they did it quicker than we ever could have imagined. After being months behind schedule, they picked up the task and finished in two months instead of the prescribed three. From my limited experience at camp, that's about the quickest I've seen anything get done around here. Which really is saying something.

Every morning I take a walk down the pier, lining my steps up with the nails marking stringers and caps, running my fingers over the railings where they were sanded down. There are little things I notice, things that really don't mean anything to anyone else but I keep them close to me because the memory of what came before compared to what is now gives me confidence for the day. Sometimes I walk the planks barefoot. I feel closer to it. For me it's not a thing anymore. It's like a friend, who breathes and sighs through the days along with all of us. I can't imagine life here without it and the experience of watching it be born under the hands of the crew.

Maybe it's waxing to poetic to let go what I really think in the mornings. To say that when I stand there, I remember the hard work, and wonder what I can be capable of. When I stretch on the warm wood after my runs, I begin to think that if eight men can build something so permanent, what can I be capable of building in my life?

So it's with that that I dedicate our pier to the men who were the crux of the operation, those who saw it go from a stack of paper plans and a parade ground of raw supplies into the structure that it is today.

Thanks guys. You're really, truly, the best there is. At least to me. 2375.