Another long day had come to a close. He had spent 14 hours building a road. Most of his peers were physically exhausted and had fallen asleep in the small shared living quarters. He lay awake thinking there must be more to life than this.
The year was 1857 and Ontario was becoming a bustling destination for people from all around the world. Road building was a respectable career and he was considered one of the best. He effortlessly performed his craft and followed instructions laid out by the engineers. Some "suit" thought it was a good idea to make the roads as straight as possible. It made him sick.
A telegram arrived for him the following morning. It was from an old colleague from Scotland. His old friend was one of the best road builders he had ever known.
He read the telegram and immediately gathered his possessions. That same morning he left the camp and was headed to the Highlands of Ontario - to build the road he was born to build.
When he arrived at the Highlands camp he was astounded to find that every man there was equal to him in skill. It was unfamiliar territory but he was excited to be part of such an elite group of craftsmen.
For years they worked as one cohesive unit. They crafted roads that spoke more about the journey than the destination. Each day he practiced his craft and at night had visions for what the following day would bring.
When the road was complete he looked upon it knowing it was as much a part of him as he was a part of it. Each of its winding turns reflected his own journey.
