Interview with Aaron Williams

One of my first encounters with Aaron Williams was at a Halloween party in 2009. He and his roommates had scoured the streets of St. John’s stuffing garbage bags full of decomposing leaves. They threw them all over the floor and stairs to provide the party with an eerie ambiance. Tea lights were scattered on the coffee table and mantle. We were kids, away from home for the first time, and having fun, no thought to the risks and potential consequences of our actions. 

Thanks to Newfoundland’s perpetual dampness, there was no danger to anything burning, but it’s funny to look back on now that Williams has written two books about fire and trees. His first book, Chasing Smoke, was about his time as a forest firefighter in British Columbia. His most recent, The Last Logging Show, was released in May by Harbour Publishing and chronicles his family’s past, present, and future logging on the Haida Gwaii archipelago. 

The Last Logging Show is a nuanced, layered depiction of a complicated subject. It’s a heartfelt portrait of a collapsing giant.

But it’s also so much more than that. Williams and I have both grown a lot since that leaf-strewn house party—and that is evidenced in the maturity of William’s voice and delivery in his sophomore release. The Last Logging Show is a nuanced, layered depiction of a complicated subject. It’s a heartfelt portrait of a collapsing giant—a complicated love letter to a way of life and the people who live it.

I was delighted for the opportunity to ask Aaron a little more about his book. 

What compelled you to write this most recent book?

Logging has interested me ever since I was young. Many families in northwest BC are logging and fishing families. A lot of my generation watched our parents (dads mostly) work through the last of the boom years in those pillar industries. There is a romance about those jobs. Even children of the professional class up there (lawyers, accountants etc.) found themselves working on fishing boats or logging blocks. I always thought that was interesting about the work and the money you could make doing it. 

I was caught up in it too, but the reality was, it wasn’t something that made sense to do long term. Spending most of my time in a camp at a time when things were getting precarious in the industry was not appealing. 

As far as the format of the book – I love magazine profiles, I’m very interested in what makes people tick and what a working person’s day looks like. I also love Richard Scarry’s classic kids book  “Busy Town.” Which gives a brief synopsis of how different things are harnessed (electricity) or built (houses). This book is sort of a combination of those two things, plus some family history and settler/First Nations tensions.

The weight of the past and the future in the present moment is evident at every turn in this book. They’re really braided together. Was that intentional?

I don’t think so – the intentional parts were things like describing how the jobs were done and developing character. Everything else was sort of on the periphery, I knew there was something there, but if I had consciously set out to try to make the reader “feel” things, it would have come off as heavy handed. Also, that weight you talk about is just sort of in the air in Port Clements and around my dad, especially during and after the blockade. 

You also manage to weave together the technical aspects of the industry, with the natural beauty and culture of Haida Gwaii, and the very real humans who live and work this lifestyle. How did you manage to find that balance?

A basic writer hack that I came to pretty late was mapping out the key points or “beats” in each chapter. I did this on cue cards and it was probably my biggest learning experience from a process standpoint in this book. Once I had those cue cards it was much easier to see what was important and when things were a little off and needed to be brough back in to balance.

One of the things I loved most are your deft unusual descriptions. You compare handing the chainsaw back to the faller as handing a crying infant back to its mother, a truck full of logs becomes an engorged tick, a tree planter’s shovel becomes a silver tongue—but it doesn’t feel forced or out of place. Did these come spontaneously to you?

Definitely not! I think those descriptions are sparse because it’s not something that comes naturally. It’s a whole different mode of writing, Heather O’Neill does it well. Although thinking back, that chainsaw/crying mother thing came pretty quick, but I only remember that because it was the only instance of that happening.

You did not shy away from the ugly side of the industry—the environmental consequences, and the rifts between the Haida people and the white logging company and loggers, including protests and a blockade during your research and writing. What was your process in trying to get this depiction right? 

I tried to keep the Haida point of view in mind. That was difficult because the Council of the Haida Nation (CHN) didn’t respond to interview requests when working on it. I did have great conversations with other Haida not associated with the CHN throughout the writing though.

Another thing I knew from the outset was that if my parents had really liked this book, I would have been doing something wrong. They didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t an easy read for them. 

With that said, I sympathize with my parents because it’s difficult to live the politics of reconciliation. Many urban Canadians — living far from where they are put into action — support these ideas. But when jobs are at stake and small-town services like schools and hospitals are threatened when those jobs disappear in the name of reconciliation, it becomes a lot more complicated than just cheering it on from a distance. 

You also weren’t afraid to show yourself warts and all—your discomfort of being the boss’s son, your need to prove yourself, some of the petty thoughts you have along the way—did you struggle with admitting these things?

Haha, yes although that was easier to do than trying to strike a balance with the book overall. I was pretty comfortable with the amount of “bleeding on the page” I did, perhaps because it was significantly less than the amount of blood loss in the forest firefighting book. That one I cringe at. 

As a female reader, I found the depictions of the men who dominate the industry and their interactions captivating—the economy of language and what is left unsaid. This includes between you and your father. Was that a theme you intended to explore?

It was intentional, yes. I was aware when I was spending time with these guys how much they could communicate with a pause or a change of facial expression. Often that was the only way they were able to communicate something meaningful. 

Speaking of father-son relationships, you now have three children of your own. What role do you want the industry—and trees—to play in their lives? 

I hope that my appreciation for this stuff rubs off on them a bit. Any interest is good, even if their views toward it ends up being different than mine, just as my view is a bit different from my dad’s. But it’s tough to feel really connected with the forest, when you’re living in the city. I think about that often. 

I know when you were renovating your house in Halifax, you chose to bring in some wood from B.C. (to build your deck) Why was that important to you?

Yes, cut for free by a good friend, otherwise the cost to get it out here would have been too much. It feels a bit snobbish but everyone is snobbish about a couple things, right? I love Halifax, but I miss B.C. and it’s nice having something from home that gets used every day.

Aaron, I want to thank you for writing this book and sharing this important story with the world. What can we expect from you next?

We’re pretty busy with the kids these days. So, when I do have a minute, 

I find myself thinking about projects that aren’t as daunting and lonely as writing an entire book. My craziest dream is to have somebody pay me to put together a coffee table book about the history of mountain biking in B.C. Less words and more collaborative. But the subtext there is that I think I just really want a paid vacation to the Whistler Bike Park right now.

Aaron Williams is a British Columbia born, Nova Scotia based writer whose work has been published by The Globe and Mail, the Halifax Chronicle Herald, and Reader’s Digest, among others. He has a MFA in creative non-fiction from King’s College. He lives in Halifax, NS, with his partner, Sue, and their three children.

Publisher: Harbour Publishing (May 4, 2024)
Paperback 9″ x 6″ | 224 pages
ISBN: 9781990776618

Lindsey Harrington is a Nova Scotian writer with Newfoundland roots and a passion for exploring societal issues through a personal lens. Last year, she longlisted for the CBC Nonfiction Award and shortlisted for the Fiddlehead Creative Nonfiction Award. She has an editorial column on her childfree experience forthcoming in the Toronto Star and is currently querying her unmotherhood memoir, Free or Less. Learn more at lindseyharrington.com.