Building a wheelchair accessible cabin

I have been dreaming about building a cabin since I was a teenager.

Cabin life always represented quietness, simplicity, and a chance to reset in a beautiful setting. The sounds of birds. The seemingly deafening sound of maple leaves falling from trees amidst stillness. Spending time alone in nature or with good friends, doing meaningful things.

When I returned from Nome, Alaska in 1999 after working with Sandpipers for the summer, cabin life was firmly entrenched in my blood as I saw how families gathered in their special place to just be together.

Shortly after, I started a cabin group with my three closest friends. We saved $100 a month, generating $5,000 a year. We were going to buy a chunk of land and build a cabin with our own hands, learning as we went.

For a few years, we went on cabin trips every three months, renting cabins for the weekend. We could explore places we liked. Friday night accessible. Within three hours of Vancouver, the city we lived in. In time, we were able to see many different areas and stay in various styles of cabin, set amongst differing landscapes.

After a couple of years, what became evident was that each of our eight team members (four guys and their spouses) each had a different vision of what a cabin was, what it looked like, and what it represented. More importantly, it became very evident that money between friends was going to be dangerous. Rather than lose friends over what was essentially going to be a business relationship, we collapsed the cabin group. Everyone got their money back and we went on vacation to Cuba together.

I moved to Victoria shortly after for a work opportunity. A few months later, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS).

A year after retiring from soccer, I agreed to coach the team I would have played on. They knew me as a player, and thought I would be a decent coach.

One day, I was sitting in locker room after a game. One of my players sat next to me and asked how my cabin was coming. I looked at him and said, “I have MS. My cabin dreams are over. That dream was for an able-bodied person. I use a wheelchair. Life has changed.”

He said, “what are you talking about? We believe in you and your cabin project.” Pointing around the room, he said, “he’s a carpenter. He’s a concrete guy. He’s a sheet metal guy. We’re gonna help you build this thing.” I tried to convince him that he should let it go. A wheelchair user with three young kids can’t build a cabin. I should sit quietly and read a book in the corner.

But that conversation stayed with me. I said to myself “maybe… No, there’s no way I can pull this off. Can I? C’mon Rahul. Give up on that ridiculous dream!”

I spoke to Cathy. She said, “building a cabin isn’t my dream, but I know it’s yours. Do it. Make it happen. I know you can. I believe in you.”

I spoke to my dad and told him what I was thinking. He said, “you haven’t built that thing yet. You’ve been talking about it for 20 years. I’ll help you with some of the mortgage.”

After dreaming, researching, and tracking properties for two decades, it was time. I had no more excuses. I had some of the finances in place, the army of friends to work with me, and I realized that although it would be easier to give up, I wasn’t going to.

One day, a friend of mine and I took a day trip to Galiano Island, one of the Gulf Islands between Vancouver and Victoria. We looked at two properties near the ferry terminal. One was too steep. The other had a strange configuration. Connectivity would be a challenge.

Sensing my disappointment, the real estate agent said that there was one property at the absolute northern end of Galiano Island. Forgetting where I was, I asked, “how many hours north?”

She replied, “Oh, it’s far. It’s about 25 minutes away.”

We drove to the northern end of Galiano Island. It was indeed 25 minutes north, but not through light industrial lands or desert. A paved, winding road through beautiful forests, with ocean glimpses, passing cyclists and waving locals along the way.

We reached the property. I had been looking for a scrubby piece of land, maybe half an acre in size, that we could make do. This property was 11 acres in size. One acre recently logged, 10 acres of 60-80 year old coastal Douglas Fir, maple, oregon grape forest. It was the same price as the half acre properties we had looked at earlier “way to the south” near the Galiano ferry terminal.

I got out of the car and into my wheelchair. At that moment, a light breeze moved past. It was May, and the sweet smell of spring hit me. Beautiful. I took a moment to take it all in. The landscape. The sounds. The possibility.

And then reality kicked in. I could wheel about a metre in each direction. The ground was undulating, hummocky grass. I could rotate and see the open field that was in front of me if I craned my neck over the car.

My friend Jason headed off to explore the property. After about an hour, he returned. He walked up to me and said, “this is it!” We had known each-other for a long time and had many conversations about the cabin. He showed me the photos and videos he had just taken, describing with palpable enthusiasm the different features.

With a sense of possibility, we took the ferry ride home for the day. I didn’t want to get too far ahead of myself, but I think we had seen “the one”.

The next day, I returned with Cathy and the kids. Daniel was seven years old. Lily, five, and Maya, one.

After a walk around the property, Cathy told me she “could feel it”.

Running back to me at full speed, Lily said, “I saw TWO caterpillars. Two!” My family was in. We made an offer, which was accepted.

We have now owned the property for 7 years. We have hosted numerous work parties. I estimate 40 different people have lent their strength, wisdom, and enthusiasm to the cabin project. It has grown from just an idea into a community project.

Through my lived experience using a wheelchair, I have learned that finding a truly wheelchair accessible place for a family to spend time together in nature is very challenging. My goal is to one day be able to lend or rent the property to other people and families whose lives have been altered by mobility challenges.

This place will not be like the places that have been pitched to me where “it’s totally wheelchair accessible, once you get over the first couple of steps” or “perfectly accessible…unless you need the bathroom.”

It is being designed for wheelchair users, by a wheelchair user.

I have learned in my life that nothing worth doing is ever easy. The cabin dream has been a long and winding story, similar to my experience with Multiple Sclerosis. There have been some amazing experiences that serve to counter the disappointments, moments of self-doubt, and frustration.

I named the cabin project “The Place That Kindness Built” as a testament to the kindness, generosity, and enthusiasm of all of those who have helped breathe life into the dream thus far. We are seven years in, but I feel like we are just getting started.