Riley Tookey - Strathcona County Men’s Shed

When I first moved to Strathcona County, I didn’t know anyone. I figured the best way to meet people was to get involved. My brother, who lives in New Zealand, told me about the Men’s Shed he belonged to  and something about it just clicked. It made perfect sense.

Before starting one here, I joined the Kenilworth Men’s Shed to learn more. That’s where I met Stan Lennox. I mentioned I was thinking of starting a Shed in Sherwood Park, and he offered to help without hesitation. 

We started with a few guys and a pot of coffee. I leaned on my background in advertising, made some posters, handed out cards, and we started telling people what we were building not just with tools but with connection. We reached out to the community, and the response was incredible. Even the county stepped in to help us get things off the ground. It didn’t take long before the room started to fill.

Now, a few years later, we have 65 members.

Sixty-five men come back, week after week.

Sixty-five stories.

We never knew how much we needed sixty-five friendships. 

Tuesdays are for coffee, cards, dice, and stories, no pressure, just presence.

On Wednesdays, we roll out benches in a heated parkade and get to work. We build things for museums, local charities, schools, and kids’ clubs. But the most important thing we build is connection.

There’s something powerful about shoulder-to-shoulder conversations.

While we’re sanding or assembling, the real stuff starts to surface stories of MS, diabetes, chronic pain, and dementia. Grief. Change. We don’t force it. It just happens because people feel safe.

And that’s when something remarkable unfolds:

Men who were once isolated begin to feel seen again.

They go home and tell their wives what they built.

They come back with pride. They bring their stories with them.

That’s the real reward.

Not the bench. Not the birdhouse.

It’s the friendship.

It’s like that old Cheers theme where everybody wants to go where somebody knows your name. That’s what we’ve created here, a place where every man can feel useful again, no matter his history, health, or heartache.

Some of our guys are carrying heavy loads, cancer, dementia, and profound personal loss. But in the Shed, they’re not just supported. They’re respected. They’re alive in ways they haven’t felt in years.

“I have 65 guys who now have friends. Whose wives are proud of them. And they come back.”

And they come back because here, they’re not just retired.

They’re not forgotten.

They’re not invisible.

Here, they matter. Here, they belong.

We’ve created a rare space where men can laugh without pretending.

Where they can build without being perfect.

Where they can heal without ever having to say the word out loud.

This Shed gave that to me.

It gave it to all of us.

And it’s something I’ll never take for granted.