In a basement, somewhere between the scent of sawdust and the ticking of something handmade, a man named Roy Friesen lives on.

He made clocks. That was his thing. Not professionally, but in the truest, most maddeningly beautiful way: By hand, with soul. Roy’s clocks weren’t just timepieces — they were intricate, wooden love letters. Stories carved into pine and oak, whirring behind humble quartz movements you could buy at the hardware store. And more often than not, he gave them away.

Recommended Videos

Traci Nickel remembers her grandfather best through the things that still tick.

After Roy’s wife died in 1990, grief found him in the garage. Some men drink. Some run marathons. Roy started cutting tiny wooden moose. And RCMP officers. And steam trains. And 1,000-piece jigsaw mosaics th

See Full Page