An uncle I met less than a handful of times in my life, who lived in Thunder Bay, Ontario, worked at the local daily newspaper as a typesetter.

I was maybe 7 when he opened his drawers at his work and showed me the lead letters and how he set them out on boards. He let me place some myself, and he printed what I “wrote.”

His drawers contained multiple variations of letters in size and style. I was amazed to think any word could be made real this way, could be simply thought up, then turned into a real metal set of letters. Words became heavy and sharp.

They had been inked and bore stains of different colors. His work area seemed a jumble of endless possibilities.