The first time we stood on that empty plot of dirt in Sámara, watching Leo and Willmar dig holes for foundation footings, we had no idea we were about to embark on the most ambitious project of our lives. What started as a crazy idea about shipping container homes would become Sea Casa - a place that would transform not just how we lived, but how we understood what home could be.

The Leap of Faith

Moving to Costa Rica had already felt like jumping off a cliff. But deciding to build our own home? That was like jumping off a cliff while simultaneously learning to fly. We'd gone from having "the brand-new house, brand-new cars, high paying jobs" - the typical North American lifestyle we were supposed to want - to standing in a field with a contractor named Leo who barely spoke English, planning to turn shipping containers into our forever home.

The skeptics back home weren't shy about their opinions. Build a house? In a foreign country? Out of shipping containers? The phrase "third world country" got thrown around a lot. But we'd already learned something important during our first months in Costa Rica: sometimes the craziest ideas lead to the most beautiful outcomes.

Finding Our Team

Leo arrived in our lives like a gift from the construction gods. Lanky, with hands that could weld steel as easily as most people tie their shoes, he looked at our container house dreams and simply nodded. "Sí, se puede." Yes, it can be done.

His partner Willmar brought a different energy - methodical where Leo was intuitive, precise where Leo was creative. Together, they formed the perfect team for what we were about to attempt. Martin would join them later, adding his own skills to the mix. These weren't just contractors; they became the architects of our new life.

Watching them work was like discovering a different relationship with labor entirely. Everything was done by hand. No fancy machinery, no shortcuts. Just skill, determination, and an understanding of materials that came from generations of building in this climate, on this soil, with these challenges.

Containers Become Home

When our four shipping containers finally arrived - rumbling down the narrow road on trucks that seemed impossibly large for our little lane - the entire neighborhood came out to watch. Getting them positioned required the whole community: neighbors holding power lines up so the trucks could pass, kids running alongside like it was a parade.

"Holy crap, it's happening," I remember thinking as that first container settled onto its foundation. The boys' faces, reflected the same mixture of excitement and disbelief we all felt.

But excitement quickly gave way to the reality of construction. Costa Rican construction, we learned, operates on its own timeline. "Mañana" doesn't necessarily mean tomorrow - it means "when it's ready to happen." Rain delays weren't just about weather; they were about respecting the rhythm of a place where forcing things rarely worked.

The cutting began almost immediately. Watching Leo slice through steel walls with his large cutting wheel, sparks flying everywhere, felt both terrifying and thrilling. Each cut was irreversible - a commitment to this wild dream we'd committed to.

"So this is where the boys' bedroom will be," I'd explain to the camera, standing in what was still essentially a steel box. "And this will be our kitchen." It felt like describing a house that existed only in our imaginations, but Leo and Willmar nodded along as if they could see exactly what we meant.

The Learning Curve

Building with containers sounds simple until you actually try it. Every window required precision cutting and custom steel framing. Insulation meant covering every surface with fiberglass that made us look like we'd been attacked by cotton candy. The drywall went up sheet by sheet, creating actual rooms where before there had been just empty metal spaces.

"I haven't worked this many days in a row in a long time," I confessed to the camera during one particularly intense week. My hands, soft from years of office work, were developing the calluses that came with actually building things.

But there were victories too. The day we moved from standing in empty containers to walking through actual rooms with walls and ceilings - that felt miraculous. When Shayna started decorating, adding her touches that made the space feel like home rather than just shelter, we began to understand what we were creating.

The Business Plan

Somewhere between mudding drywall and figuring out plumbing, the idea crystallized: we wouldn't just build our home. We'd build our future. Casa Nautical and Casa Tropical - our two rental containers - would help pay for this adventure and create income in our new life.

"We're starting to take bookings," I announced in one video, barely able to contain my excitement. Behdad and Michelle, our YouTube viewers who'd become our friends, would be our very first guests. The idea that people would actually pay to stay in something we'd built with our own hands felt surreal.

But first, we had to finish them. Container by container, room by room, we repeated the process. Each rental became a laboratory for perfecting our technique. By the time we tackled the second one, we could frame walls and run electrical like we'd been doing it for years.

Life in the Details

The details of daily life during construction become the stuff of comedy and exhaustion. Racing to hardware stores in Liberia for supplies, only to discover they didn't have the specific pipe fitting we needed. Dealing with the hardware store's payment system that crashed every other Tuesday. Learning that in Costa Rica, you don't just buy a toilet - you buy a toilet, then drive around town finding the specific bolts that fit it.

"Three hours there, three hours back," became a familiar refrain for any supply run to civilization. Some forgotten screws or miscalculated measurements meant it could be a six-hour round trip if we couldn't find it locally.

The boys adapted to construction life with the resilience only kids possess. They'd walk to school across the fence - literally, our property bordered their school - then come home to find bedroom walls had appeared while they were learning math. For them, watching their home materialize became as normal as watching Saturday morning cartoons.

Seasons of Building

Costa Rica's weather became our project manager. Dry season meant long days of outdoor work, painting and roofing when the sun guaranteed everything would cure properly. Green season meant scrambling to get interiors finished when rain made outdoor work impossible.

"It's been three straight days of rain," I reported during one particularly soggy stretch. The pool of our foundation had filled with water, and Leo was pumping it out while muttering things in Spanish that I was probably better off not understanding.

But we learned to work with the rhythm rather than against it. Rain days meant electrical work, plumbing, anything that could be done under cover. Sunny days meant roofing, painting, and the kind of work that required perfect weather.

The First Guests

Behdad and Michelle's arrival as our first paying guests felt like graduation day. Real people, with real luggage, checking into something we'd built from scratch. They'd watched our entire journey on YouTube, and now they were sleeping in the room we'd framed, showering in the bathroom we'd tiled, cooking in the kitchen we'd designed.

"It's amazing how much room there is," they marveled, echoing what would become a common refrain from guests. The containers that had seemed impossibly small during construction somehow felt spacious and comfortable when finished.

Their positive review became our first real validation that this crazy idea might actually work. We weren't just building houses - we were creating experiences, memories, the kind of place people would remember long after they went home.

The Pool Dream

By 2022, Sea Casa was established, successful, everything we'd dreamed of building. But dreams have a way of growing. Standing in our courtyard, looking at the space between the our house and the rentals, we started imagining something bigger.

"Today's the day we start digging for our pool," I announced, and even saying it felt surreal. After everything we'd already accomplished, we were about to attempt something that seemed even crazier than containers.

When the backhoe broke ground, it immediately hit groundwater. Our pool site became a muddy lake almost instantly. "There's a croc in our pool!" (The rubber shoes) became both a running joke and an actual safety concern as we dealt with wildlife that found our construction site appealing (mostly dogs and racoons).

But Leo had gone to school for pool construction. This wasn't just another learning experience - this was his area of expertise. Watching him take our design and lay it out, plan the plumbing, calculate the concrete requirements, reminded us why we'd trusted him with our entire future from the beginning.

Building Paradise

The pool construction became a master class in precision and patience. Every step had to be perfect because, unlike drywall that could be patched or paint that could be redone, pool construction was essentially permanent.

River rock for drainage, rebar for strength, plumbing for circulation - each component had to be exactly right. The tile selection process alone took weeks. We wanted something that would look beautiful both wet and dry, that would complement the containers without competing with them.

When the first tiles went up, revealing the deep blues and subtle textures we'd chosen, the vision finally started to become reality. This wasn't just a pool - it was the centerpiece that would tie our entire property together.

The Waterfall

The waterfall wall came to life. Built from the same materials as everything else but standing tall at the end of the pool, it would create the sound and movement that transforms a pool from a simple rectangle of water into something magical.

Getting the water pressure right took days of adjustment. Too much and it sounded like a fire hose hitting concrete. Too little and it looked sad and artificial. But when Leo finally dialed in that perfect flow, the sound alone made the entire courtyard feel like a secret jungle retreat.

Tile by Tile

The tile work revealed something beautiful about our community. When we offered viewers the chance to have their names written on tiles that would become part of our pool forever, we expected maybe a few people to participate. Instead, dozens of our YouTube family wanted to literally become part of Sea Casa.

Shayna spent hours with a felt-tip pen, carefully writing names and travel destinations on tiles destined for the shallow end. "William - Canada." "The Johnson Family - Ireland." "Sarah - Dreams of Costa Rica." Each tile represented someone who'd followed our journey and wanted to be part of our story.

"If someone wants to know where their tile is, we can show them exactly where to stand," we promised. The idea of guests standing on tiles bearing the names of people from around the world felt like the perfect symbol of what Sea Casa had become - a place where strangers became family.

The Final Piece

The last concrete pour felt ceremonial. After years of construction, setbacks, victories, and endless problem-solving, we were finally finishing something that felt complete. The pump house, the final seating areas, the electrical connections that would bring the pool lights to life - every detail was falling into place.

"This could be the last video of the pool build," I announced, and saying it felt both triumphant and slightly melancholy. This project had defined our lives for so long that finishing it felt like saying goodbye to an old friend.

But when we first filled the pool with water, when the lights came on for the first time, when we took that first swim in something we'd built with our own hands - that felt like pure magic.

What We Built

Looking back at the transformation, it's hard to believe it's the same property. Where once there was just dirt and potential, there's now a compound that regularly hosts families from around the world. Our shipping containers, once dismissed as crazy, now represent everything people love about unconventional travel.

But more than a business or even a home, we built proof that the most impossible dreams are sometimes the most worth pursuing. We built evidence that you can leave everything familiar behind and create something better than what you had before.

We built Sea Casa, but Sea Casa built us too. It taught us that we were capable of things we never imagined. It showed us that the most meaningful work happens when you're slightly terrified by what you're attempting. It proved that sometimes the best way to find yourself is to build something completely new.

The Rhythm of Paradise

Today, Sea Casa operates with the rhythm we could never have imagined during those early construction days. Guests check in and out, leaving reviews that mention the beautiful pool, the comfortable containers, the perfect Costa Rican experience. But they also mention the story - how everything they're enjoying was built by hand, with love, by people who believed in something that seemed impossible.

The boys, now older, brought friends over to swim in the pool they watched being built tile by tile. For them, this transformation is just part of their childhood - the normal background of a life where impossible things happen regularly.

Beyond the Build

The success of Sea Casa opened doors we never expected. Other expats started reaching out, wanting us to help them build their own dreams. The consulting business that grew from our experience has allowed us to help dozens of families create their own version of paradise.

But perhaps the most important thing we built was proof that the life you dream about doesn't have to stay a dream. It can become your address, your daily reality, the place where your family grows up and your friends come to visit.

The Real Construction

Looking back at all those hours of footage, all those days of physical labor, all those nights falling asleep exhausted and covered in construction dust, the real building wasn't just about steel and concrete. We were constructing a completely different life.

We built confidence we never knew we possessed. We built skills we never thought we'd need. We built friendships with people we never would have met in our old life. We built a business that supports not just our family, but the families of everyone who works with us.

Most importantly, we built proof that the voice in your head saying "you can't do that" is usually wrong.

The containers that seemed so impossible to most people turned out to be the easy part. The hard part was believing we could actually pull it off. But once we proved to ourselves that we could turn empty steel boxes into beautiful homes, we realized we could probably figure out anything.

The View from Here

Today, sitting by the pool we built, watching the waterfall Leo built, surrounded by the containers that seemed so crazy when we first explained them to family back home, the transformation feels both dramatic and completely natural. This is simply what happens when you commit to an impossible dream and then refuse to give up when it gets difficult.

Sea Casa was a huge part of our life and still is, we will never forget all the ups and downs a long the way. Sea Casa is now for sale for someone else to enjoy and even add on to.

The foundation is solid now, in every sense. Not just the concrete footings that hold up our containers, but the confidence that comes from proving to yourself that you can build the life you actually want rather than settling for the life you think you're supposed to have.

The shipping containers that brought us here weren't just steel boxes transformed into homes. They were vehicles that carried us from the life we had to the life we never dared imagine we deserved.

Watch Our Complete Journey

Want to experience every moment of this transformation? Our complete building journey playlist captures it all - from those first nervous steps on empty land to the final reveal of our completed pool paradise.

Every video documents not just the construction progress, but the emotional journey of people discovering they were capable of far more than they ever imagined. The moments of doubt, the small victories, the major breakthroughs, and the gradual realization that impossible dreams sometimes just require impossible persistence.

These aren't just construction videos - they're the real-time documentation of a family building not just a home, but an entirely new way of living. Watch how containers become comfortable homes, how empty land becomes a thriving business, and how people who never thought they could build anything create something that will last for generations.