A conversation with the Grand Hotel Shaunavon’s, Kent Karemaker.
I recently read a piece titled, Make Something Heavy. It’s author, Anu Atluru discusses the many ways our culture has drastically shifted from heavy mode (slower, more deliberate) to light mode (quick to make, quick to fade). Atluru believes that it’s the heavy that fulfills us and that working with our hands holds ‘an abundance of untapped virtue and value’. She writes, “We instinctively tie weight to value. Gold is solid. Wood is dense. And back when we still printed things on paper, a heavy stapler was a luxury”. Coincidentally, I bought a stapler from Amazon last week and when it arrived it felt light and cheap. Atluru has my attention.
We’re now creating more than ever, but she argues it has no longevity. This got me thinking about the online content I’ve created over the years and the limited life expectancy of each post, image, or email newsletter. Atluru goes on to say that the internet is mostly a machine for light things, “It does not care for patience, deliberation, or anything but production.” I can attest to that with the strong influence to consistently produce. Stay in people’s inboxes, stay top of mind. Or you will be left in the dust. But the constant output of production never seems to amount to much. It’s like a million Facebook posts could never mount to that of a good novel. Am I ever intellectually stretched by small snippets of content?
When I watch my boys play, Atluru’s theory plays out before me. The things that keep them the most curious and entertained are the heavy things. The rocks, the sturdiest sticks, THE MUD. Anything they get their little hands on that are solid, testing its durability in every imaginable way. Nothing that man has created in our home keeps them both entertained and intellectually stimulated for hours at a time like the density they find outside. Their hands are the creators that tap into their chosen value.
When I self-reflect, I realize during my transient years of 20s and 30s, I wanted light. Light to move, light to pack, light to make. No permanence. Now I crave weight, presence, quality. Antiques and traditional ways have begun to draw me in. Less hot takes, more essays. Less messaging, more gathering. Less TikTok, more workshop. Less new, more heirloom. I want to spend endless hours working on something with all my care and attention. A slow marathon of intent and energy. THAT is heavy.
You can begin to feel listless when there’s no density to your work. A piece of advice I stumbled upon for feeling this way is to engage with things that someone put a lot of work into. Serendipitously, a couple weeks ago my editor encouraged me to check out the Grand Hotel Shaunavon and its sympathetic restoration, a process that prioritizes preserving original character and aesthetic. I dove deep into the hotel’s Facebook page that showcases countless hours of work that Kent Karemaker has bestowed on what he calls “the little pearl on the prairie”. I was fortunate enough to chat more with Karemaker on his projects (he’s also renovating an old, abandoned house built in 1915). This is heavy.
Karemaker was as colourful and wonderful to speak with as the walls he paints in his homes. A former BC resident, Karemaker had found purpose in restoring abandoned heritage houses before moving on to Grand Hotel Shaunavon which has been sitting dormant for four decades. He mentioned even though he grew up in BC he always had a love for the prairies. Something that he felt began as a young child reading none other than, Little House on the Prairie.
Karemaker, credits his restoration projects as a reason to keep going while he grapples with his mental health challenges. He said it’s not a silver bullet to cure his depression, but it sure helps. It was during the isolation of Covid, that he reached a point in his life where he knew he needed to make a change. When the beautiful character homes of Victoria, BC were unattainable (often starting at a million dollars), he sold his condo, quit his job and moved to Frontier, Saskatchewan where he found an affordable home. A lover of antiques, (he has furniture dating back as far as the 16th and 19th centuries) he describes older homes as the “ultimate antique, because you can wrap yourself in it”. It’s like living slowly and deliberately has the power to wrap you in a cocoon of satisfaction.
Karemaker stays busy, something he gives credence to his ADHD and OCD. He is never without a marathon of projects in front of him. From stripping the paint off doors, revealing wood floors, to tirelessly cleaning brass switches and hardware. He tackles each project, using his own time and hands from re-building basement walls to selecting the perfect wallpaper.
A care aid by day, construction crew and interior designer by night, Karemaker is aware that doing the work himself makes for a lengthy process, but he is prepared to see out what I believe to be a virtuous project. He looks forward to the Grand Opening that he has set his sights for the hotels 100th anniversary in 2029. He promises that the hotel will be one of decadence, filled with chandeliers, velvet, silver and crystal. A place for travellers to rest their heads along with a venue to host high teas, reunions, weddings, graduations and more. I encourage you to follow along on his Facebook page, Grand Hotel Shaunavon, among his almost 8,000 other supporters who regularly cheer him on, sharing their ‘heavy’ projects and relishing in his slow but grand victories of restoration. An Open House of the hotel’s progress is scheduled for Sunday, July 20th during Shaunavon’s Boom Town Days, a day that he says he’ll be proud to showcase one completed room.
While Karemaker claims the hotel is the pearl on the prairies, I’d argue the pearl is truly him and his heavy, valuable work.
Photo Credit: Ken Karemaker
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