<![CDATA[THE STRAYBOAR PROJECT

<![CDATA[THE STRAYBOAR PROJECT - Project Seth]]>Mon, 12 Jan 2026 23:48:24 -0400Weebly<![CDATA[Without a Map]]>Tue, 18 Feb 2025 23:43:04 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/without-a-mapSharing my past has never been easy for me, but I've begun to understand that the work we're doing now is rooted in the contrast of where we've come from.
When I was released from the military in 2014, I remember feeling lost. The culmination of a four-year battle—both physically and mentally—left me struggling to find my place in an organization I no longer fit the arcs of. The haze of years spent on sleeping medications, antidepressants, and sedatives started to lift, revealing a world I didn't recognize anymore. I'd physically run and marched my body into a state of disability I couldn't simply walk off.
The final day of my 15-year military career was spent leaning against an orderly desk. Not being marched out by my unit, not given a departure with dignity. Rather, the three hollow thumps of a pay clerk's stamp.

Between 2014 and 2018, I embarked on a slow journey of healing. I began to trade medication for meditation, and gradually, I learned to embrace gratitude again. I consciously shifted my mindset from the infantry creed of "closing with and destroying the enemy" to "creating something beautiful that wouldn’t exist without me". This transformation has been a years-long process, akin to a delicate surgery that requires time and patience.

Spending warm months on the shores of Nova Scotia has been pivotal in this journey. I’ve spent hours building gardens and a greenhouse, immersing myself in the fragile art of nurturing life rather than wielding the tools to take it. Wandering along the beaches with my wife, we search for tiny fragments of glass that were once sharp and dangerous, now weathered to smooth, colorful pieces. Each soft shard tells a beautiful story of transformation from something broken into something beautiful.

Strayboar, much like the ocean, has played a significant role in softening the edges of my past. It’s taken persistence, self-reflection, and more than a few literal walks on the beach, but we're getting there. The more communities and individuals we encounter who carry their own traumas, the more sharp edges we're able to sand smooth.

I want to express how amazing it’s been to realize that our art not only helps us process our own experiences but also supports others in their healing.
As we’ve started selling limited runs and unique pieces, I’ve seen our art make an difference. Knowing that some of our projects have helped initiatives in Ukraine for children affected by war is incredibly fulfilling.

Creating positive art from difficult experiences feels like cracking a code. If we can inspire more people to do the same, the ripple effect could be beautiful.
Together, we can turn our struggles into something meaningful, promoting connection and resilience. I’m excited to see where this story takes us!

]]><![CDATA[Dolphin Dance]]>Fri, 17 Nov 2023 16:18:17 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/dolphin-dance

An amazing August day in the company of Dolphins... is there anything else to say? The healing that comes from creativity, and the reward in the very action of the pursuit.. This captures the essence of both. Stay peaceful!!

]]><![CDATA[This Remembrance Day]]>Fri, 11 Nov 2022 23:16:35 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/this-remembrance-dayI haven’t posted on Remembrance Day via social media or blogs ever. I didn’t wear medals or distinguishing markings at my local cenotaph for years after release. I locked myself in my own head and only surrounded myself with the people that I felt safe letting in.
I thought I was just being antisocial, but it turns out that the vast majority of the people I served with were doing this as well. There’s an injury at play here that shows itself in ways that people don’t always understand. A quote from a close friend, “I’ve never been more ashamed and proud of the same thing in my life”. That sums it up really well.
One of the biggest traumas for service personnel, is the removal from our community. Our tribe. Being set adrift alone is terrifying, especially when you’re the one rowing the boat. The answer, for me anyway, was to expand my tribe. I started going to outdoor markets in my home town of Lunenburg, started getting involved in my community and supporting local business. Getting involved with my children’s schools, and the parents of kids the same age. As a result, I’ve started to build my tribe again.

The people in this community that consider themselves my friends (you know who you are) accept the people from my unit as their own. These people would literally build a boat to come find me if I were ever adrift again. I feel loved, appreciated and safe here. My family (blood and chosen) have quite seriously saved my life. You’re heroes. Every single one. You’ve enabled me to find my footing again.
My veteran community is suffering to the tune of 15 more suicides this year alone (that I know of). Five of those since August. Through the experience and support of my new community, we’re building a boat to look for survivors. It’s strong and it’s fast and we’re coming to find you.

]]><![CDATA[Full Moon Surfers]]>Sun, 06 Feb 2022 23:51:57 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/full-moon-surfersHello again! I’m slowly working through a PILE of footage that I’ve been compiling for years since my release from the infantry.
Something I've learned in the past seven years is how to pay attention to a gifted moment. This beautiful July evening stands out in my mind as an example of exactly why I pursue peace with a camera. I had finished supper, and was enjoying the shapes the sun was making as it danced through the pines out behind the house. I was doing dishes by the window and was increasingly distracted by the deep blue sky and lazy clouds on the horizon.

As the sun sank lower, the initial fiery rays of a forming sunset lit up the sky out toward the beach. “Oh my God Babe, it's gonna be a beauty” is all I managed. I grabbed my drone case, threw it in the Jeep and took off like a madman.
As I got closer to the shore, I could see the white crests of some beautiful swell coming in over the reefs. Surfers I thought to myself. Almost simultaneously, I rounded the corner that leads to that long crescent sandbar, a full moon made itself visible. Hovering just over Hell Reef, a silver orb that looked like it was leaving a glittering trail across the bay. “This is beyond perfect...” I actually said out loud.
As anyone who’s ever chased a rainbow, or a perfect dawn halo knows, these moments are so fleeting. They last for minutes. The entire sky lit on fire as I unpacked my gear. I made my way across the bridge and over the dune, the filtered red light was licking the cresting wave peaks and it drew a gasp from my lungs. Work, damn fingers. I unpacked the bird, and fired her up.
The blades spun fast, I listened to the moment, and this is what the world showed me.

]]><![CDATA[Atlantic Ocean Sunfish]]>Mon, 31 Jan 2022 23:19:28 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/atlantic-ocean-sunfishThis video is from a beautiful warm day in August. A perfect gem in a season full of beach days. I was very fortunate to be in the right place at the right time.

]]><![CDATA[Catching Up]]>Sun, 07 Nov 2021 18:06:30 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/catching-up

It's been a busy summer. No excuse for my complete absence, but we've filmed and processed a lot. I've been able to concentrate on writing, gardening in the greenhouse and taking a more active role in my community.

It's been seven years since my release from the army, and just recently I have felt the turbulence of that former life starting to deconstruct. I seem to reinvent the road ahead of myself almost daily, like a madman trying to predict the stock market, desperately attempting to recognize patterns in people and social situations. Reacting to fastballs thrown in a fog of self-sabotage, grief, loss, depression and ultimately the anxiety of everything together.
The kicker is that ALL of the veterans/first responders that I've spoken to with PTSD or OSI find themselves in a variation of this boat. 100%. This is far from coincidental. The play book is set up this way. Regardless of nature, regardless of nurture. None seem to be exempt. The power that very few realize, is that there is strength in this boat. The trick is to be able to redefine strength.

My body is broken, my mind forever altered and my focus askew. What we're all left with, is experience. From experience blossoms wisdom, and from wisdom blooms power.
I can't run a marathon anymore.
I can't jump from a helicopter toward incoming.
And I'll never know the rush of a well executed attack again.

But I can breathe life into a garden, I can hear music in laughter, and I know that kindness and love are paramount to all things.
Reminding myself of my humanity is a daily task.
But I truly believe that our darkest experiences can empower our brightest accomplishments.

]]><![CDATA[Food for Life]]>Sun, 16 May 2021 21:37:51 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/food-for-life

Ever since releasing from the military, I’ve discovered a profound peace in my garden. Hands in soil, physical preparation of earth, and of course the reward of what comes up!
Healthy food and physical activity are so beneficial to my mental well being.
Enjoy.

]]><![CDATA[Gaff Point: Legacy of Love]]>Tue, 30 Mar 2021 19:49:31 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/gaff-point-legacy-of-love

This past week has offered up day after day of perfect walking weather. Most importantly in one of my favourite places to hike... Gaff Point. Gaff Point was a staple hike for me when I was a kid. My parents would rattle my brother and me away from whatever we were doing on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and inform us of our destination. Most times I was happy to go, of course.

But, being a kid, I didn't always want to go. I’d moan that I had something else I wanted to do or complain that my feet hurt. My mind would wander and I’d think about a TV show or something else equally as trivial.

As I got older however, it was the place where dragons lived and adventure awaited. There were cliffs and caves, paths through dew laden ferns that smelled like heaven. Open fields of dwarved trees, hidden beaches and beauty everywhere you dared to look. Raw and beautiful. This place was another land, and as kids, we could be the heroes in it.

My parents discovered this place for themselves early in their lives too. However, coming from New York State they’d seen places like this erased by development over time. Favourite fishing and swimming creeks polluted by industry. Hiking trails marked ‘PRIVATE’ and forests replaced with subdivisions. I remember my dad telling me that his grandparents’ generation was one where development meant progress. It meant people were moving forward. It was a testament to determination and grit. I realize now that they were prodding my brother and I from the comfort of our lazy Saturday mornings, to get out and see it. Not just because it was beautiful, but how long could it last? How could this place, that was so beautiful and untouched, stay untouched? That question bounced around my house a lot growing up.
My bedroom was situated above our kitchen back then, and I remember hearing my parents emotionally talking this question out; they were genuinely concerned. I remember more and more talks. Talks turning into discussions. Discussions into meetings. More people sounding concerned. More people talking about a place they loved as if it were an endangered species. How could they not? One after another the headlands and shores all around were being bought, developed and privatized. More signs saying ‘Private’ or ‘No trespassing’. The race was on. I could see it. I remember the voices of a concerned few, slowly rising into a chorus of dedicated volunteers. Then professionals and even more local people counting themselves in. It was an ecological tide of concern that culminated in the development of the Kingsburg Coastal Conservancy. A community organization dedicated to the preservation of the headlands, beaches and wetlands of Kingsburg and its surrounding areas. All of that to say, after years of fundraising, donations, community, provincial, and national support, Gaff Point received its protected status in 2003.
A lot of things have changed in this area in the last 30 years. But I’ve been out on Gaff Point three times this past week.. And well, I’ll tell you, it's got cliffs and caves. Paths through sleeping ferns that will soon smell like heaven. Open fields of dwarved trees, hidden beaches and beauty everywhere I dared to look. Still raw and beautiful.
In my story, and for your part in it, you will always be the heroes of this place. Thank you Mom and Dad.

]]><![CDATA[Contrast]]>Sat, 27 Mar 2021 22:24:37 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/contrastTrigger Warning: This post mentions elements of death.

I was rifling through an old shoebox of photographs this week, like swiping through your phone pics but manual (HA!), and I found this beauty.

It’s a picture taken in the Tora Bora region of North Eastern Afghanistan while on patrol. I remembered thinking, the stark differences between this place and the Kandahar region were overwhelming. Until landing on this mountain, I figured that all of Afghanistan was a mars-like Hellscape. Land ravaged by heat and war. Smells of shit and decay. 60+ degrees Celsius with no reprieve from choking dust. Stereotypical desert.
In complete contrast, the smells of vegetation in Tora Bora were intoxicating. There were little rain showers every morning, that brought the scents of olive and conifers to life. Birds chirping from time to time, and the ever present mountains. Majestic and looming. The foothills of the Himalayas, as they were referred to in our pre op intelligence brief. My first impressions of this place were both peaceful and serene. It was beautiful.
The terrain however, was steep and unforgiving. I remember the first patrol down into the valley floor, the beauty distracting from the sheer weight we carried in water, armour and ammunition. We had been told that the Americans had “softened” the area months earlier, conducting high level bomb runs in the valley to disrupt the supply network coming in from Pakistan. The people who were caught between the walls of the canyon and the heavy munitions were shattered like glass. Fragments. The locals that lived nearby had taken away the parts that were big enough to carry and buried them in the poppy fields. The rest were left like leaves scattered on wet cement.
It’s at about this point that the picture was snapped. Much needed light in a dark moment. The most gentle arch of lazy ribbon, peaceful and perfect. Framing in a broken moment of disorder and chaos. Looking back, it’s easy to remember the disorder and chaos. The trick for me, for everyone really, is being able to focus on the rainbow.

]]><![CDATA[Art of Peace]]>Sat, 20 Mar 2021 23:55:02 GMThttps://www.strayboar.ca/project-seth/art-of-peace

So before organizing (and I use that term lightly) with the other two guys, and way before putting this website together, the three of us had been working and adventuring together for almost 20 years. Over that time, Jim has established himself as an accomplished oil painter and graphic artist, Royce a devoted knife maker and sketch artist, and me a practising photographer/videographer with an appreciation for semi precious stones and minerals. All of these things we did together and apart, in our down time or spare moments. The super great thing about the lack of confidence in my own work, is that I’ve accumulated a massive library of photo and video footage to share!
The Veterans Finding Peace short was a piece of video that was honestly left to the toss of a coin. Whatever gets me out the door and in a creative space is golden. Besides, any day in the sun on top of the Jeep is time well spent.

So, as I film and create, I'd enjoy shedding light on the world as we see it. The world we all live in. Every story or piece of art we create is focus used in creation instead of destruction. Peace in place of calamity, and hope where hopeless seemed final. I would love if everyone who visits our site were able to pull a personal connection with one, or all of us together. If you leave feeling better than when you came, maybe share us with someone else who needs to feel lighter.

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