How did Northern Son get it's name?

Hal Clayton smiled to himself as he gazed out the window at a flawless blue sky, the sun shimmering off the calm waters of the Pacific. It was hard to believe how far he’d come from the small Northern Ontario town where he’d grown up—a journey that would eventually explain how Northern Son got its name.

Leaving Sault Ste. Marie had been a gamble—one that first took him east to Ottawa, then into Western Quebec, chasing both school and hockey. But it was a gamble that changed his life and became part of the story behind the name Northern Son.

He knew cold. He’d been raised in it. Northern Ontario winters had shaped him. Still, nothing could have prepared him for his first winter in San Diego, where he’d landed to play professional hockey. It felt like a gift—almost unreal. While friends back home were bundled up against the cold or shoveling snow from their driveways, Hal was living in a place where winter meant sunshine.

Most mornings after practice, he drove straight to the beach. He’d sit barefoot in the warm sand, listening to the steady rhythm of the waves, letting the ocean quiet his thoughts. It was there, staring out at the water, that he often found himself thinking about home—and realizing how different his life had become.

That winter changed him.

For the first time, Hal began to see the world differently. He slowed down. He noticed things. He appreciated small, ordinary moments he’d never given much thought to growing up. Life no longer felt like something to rush through. He wasn’t content to live the way he always had—and he knew he never would again.

He made the most of his time in San Diego. He learned to surf. Picked up some Spanish. Became a better hockey player than he’d ever been. For two years, everything felt aligned—until the phone call came.

He’d been traded.

Just like that, he was pulled from the ocean air and palm-lined streets and dropped into Dallas, Texas—a concrete sprawl wrapped in desert heat. It felt like whiplash.

But Hal went with an open mind. He played two more seasons there, grinding through injuries that stacked up over time: a broken jaw, a cracked orbital bone, and eventually a prosthetic cheekbone. Each one took something from him.

Hal respected the game too much to drag it out. He knew when it was time. Walking away from hockey wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. The next phase of his life was waiting.

Dallas became his final stop.

The city surprised him. It was vibrant, diverse, alive with energy. And while hockey was behind him, Hal still had his hands—and the skills passed down from his father. Carpentry had always been in his blood. He found a commercial space in a trendy part of the city and decided to do something bold: he built it out himself.

The result was a full-service drinking establishment that stood apart from anything else around it. A forty-foot shotgun bar. Rich, chocolate-colored leather booths with oversized high backs. A top-tier sound system built for dancing. It was refined without being pretentious—and Dallas noticed. The place was an instant hit.

Local media called it a splash. “Canadian import Hallie Clayton makes waves with his elegant new boutique nightclub.”

When Hal decided to stay in Texas, he expected his father to object. Instead, the old man had his own way of expressing concern.

“Gators,” he said, dead serious. “Snakes. You gotta watch out for ’em. If you see a gator, run away. If you see a snake, run away faster.”

Then came the real message.

“Get your ass back north where you belong.”

“The South is not for sissies,” his father barked, raising his voice just enough to make the point. Then he softened, smiling. “You’re from the North. That’s where you belong.”

Hal stayed anyway.

He took his father’s warnings to heart—kept his head on a swivel, laughed about it when they talked. More often than not, he’d just say, “Dad, I’m still here. I’m not gonna run away.”

“That’s my son,” his father would chuckle. “Tougher than any gators or snakes down there.”

They both left it at that.

For fourteen years, Hal spoke to his father once or twice a week. And every conversation ended the same way: “Get your ass back north where you belong.”

The bar turned into bars. Success built on success. But something still pulled at him. Carpentry—the craft, the smell of sawdust, the satisfaction of building something real—never left him. On quiet weekends he would work in his garage, a habit that quietly shaped the origin of the Northern Son name.

Word spread.

Soon, neighbors started showing up—not just for custom pieces or renovations, but to learn, to drink beer, to talk sports. Somehow, without planning it, Hal’s garage became the neighborhood gathering spot.

Over time, his reputation grew beyond the block. The story shifted. He was no longer “the hockey player from Canada who knew carpentry.” He became “the carpenter from Canada who used to play hockey.”

Life settled into a comfortable rhythm. It felt solid. Unshakeable.

But his father never stopped saying it.

“Get your ass north where you belong.”

Hal came to understand something deeper as the years passed—that real beauty in life lives in contrast. Cold and warmth. Highs and lows. Joy and pain. You don’t fully appreciate one without the other.

In 2017, everything changed.

His father suffered a massive stroke. Suddenly, Hal wasn’t just a son—he was the primary caregiver. His father had to relearn how to walk. How to talk. Recovery was uncertain, and Hal was an only child.

So he packed up his life.

He left behind his friends, his bars, his house, and the woodshop he loved. With his oversized yellow lab, Wendall Clark, Hal drove north—back to Sault Ste. Marie, back to where it all started.

There was comfort in being back north where he belonged, but the weight of it all was heavy. Six months into rehabilitation, cancer took his father’s life.

One of the first things Hal did afterward was change the name of his business—from Clayton Contracting to Northern Son. For anyone wondering why the business is called Northern Son, the answer is simple: it was his way of honoring the man who taught him everything that mattered and the place that shaped him.

Hallie Sr. finally got his wish.

His son was back north where he belonged.

And that is the story behind the name Northern Son.

Hal Clayton Sr.