Thirty-Three Years, Two People, and One Tiny Van

How We Survived Our Toughest Build Yet

Thirty-three years of marriage teaches you a lot about teamwork. You learn how to anticipate each other’s moves, balance each other's strengths, and navigate life's unexpected turns. But nothing—absolutely nothing—tests the vows "for better or for worse" quite like building a camper van from scratch in a cramped driveway.

When my husband Bruce and I decided to convert a Chevy Savana 2500, we had grand visions of open roads and cozy nights. We imagined a beautiful rolling home complete with a bed, running water, a toilet, and custom cupboards. What we didn’t fully realize was that every single one of those features would require blood, sweat, tears, and a full year of hard labor. 

From Empty Shell to Rolling Home

We started with a completely blank canvas. A stock Chevy Savana is essentially a giant metal box on wheels. There are no straight lines, no square corners, and absolutely no instructions.

For twelve long months, our lives revolved around that van. If we weren't working on it, we were thinking about it, arguing about it, or watching tutorials trying to figure out how to fix our latest mistake.

Every single milestone felt like a mountain to climb

Measuring, cutting, and scribing wood to fit the curved walls of a cargo van is enough to test anyone's sanity.  Fitting a bed into a space that also needed to hold our entire lives took months of rearranging and rethinking. There were days when the tools were dropped in frustration. There were weekends where it felt like we took one step forward and three steps back. We bled, we bruised, and we questioned our judgment more than once. Building a van from scratch isn't just a construction project; it is a test of endurance.

The Best Kind of Anniversary Gift

But we stuck with it. Bruce brought his strengths, I brought mine, and together we refused to let the Savana get the best of us. After a year of struggling away, the dust has finally settled. The tools are put away. The paint is dry.

We built this. With our own four hands.

We named our DIY campervan Saoirse (pronounced ser-sha), the Irish word for freedom—though driving 15,000 km up the notorious Dempster Highway with zero travel experience means the only thing we'll likely encounter is a severe case of tire-shredding panic and a total lack of cell service.

We have absolutely no idea what lies ahead, so join us as we embark on our journey to the great unknown.