The Real Secret of the Stones

I spend most of my time at Milbeg Arts building a stone column. To gather stones for this project, we deconstruct a 200-year-old stone wall made of flat greenish brown siltstones held together by nothing more than mud and the root systems of hundreds of small plants and blackberry bushes. We stack these rocks along the backside of our cottage from largest on the right to smallest on the left.

Plant Roots Hold Together a 200-Year-Old Wall
(Photo Courtesy of Kyle Ackerman)

The Rock Pile Behind Our Cottage

Before beginning to build, I listen to some basic instructions:

1)   Find the corner stones first, and then work inward.

2)   Find rocks that are about the same thickness and flat on top.

3)   Make sure your rocks don’t wobble.

When finding the corner stones, I place and replace stones until I find the best 90-degree corner that fits without a wobble.  The next rocks find their place through imprecise intuition and the use of cement.  My ultimate goal is to build to approximately the same level for each layer. 

Adding the Cement
(Photo Courtesy of Kyle Ackerman)

The process calls for thinking in specifics and generalities at the same time: the specifics of 90-degree corners and the generalities of basically straight lines and almost level layers. It is a puzzle game where being too caught up in the specific fits will infinitely stall you, but ignoring the specific shapes completely will leave you with an indistinguishable, unstable blob.  

I know the former dilemma well. In times of extreme stress, I fixate on small details and the smallest decision paralyzes me because I give the decision of what I should eat for lunch the same importance as I might to the decision of what I should do in a moment of life threatening danger. This, at its worst, can result in the feeling that my world is constantly on the brink of collapse.

While building my column, I learn quickly that if you try to build an 8-foot column out of only small stones or only large stones, it will collapse. It is built best by using mostly large stones with a few small stones creating stability in between the imperfect fits.

Building Away
(Photo Courtesy of Kyle Ackerman)

I began building at the place indicated by my lower hand.
(Photo Courtesy of Kyle Ackerman) 

The building process is about stability, overarching lines, and compromise. You must give things their proper weight. Each decision adds up to a whole life, but the small ones—like lunch—usually won’t change its general shape.

I am good at rock building, “a natural” in our host’s words. After two weeks of hard work, the layers of my column rise above my head to eaves of the roof.  I find myself wishing that my life’s next steps rose before me so solidly high.

The Finished Product
(Photo Courtesy of Kyle Ackerman)

Applying what stone building has taught me, I come up with these questions:

What are the corner stones of my life?  

What is the general shape will they make when they fit together?

What will stabilize the imperfect fits?

Which pieces fit together best now?

Which need to wait for later?

I can answer the first question easily.

Education.

Nature.

Movement.

Hands-on.

Stewardship.

People.

Creativity.

Writing.

Teaching Consent.

Women’s Empowerment.

These are the corner stones of my life.

The other answers don’t come as easily. Luckily, my building has taught me that I shouldn’t get too caught up on exact fits or perfect synthesis. Inevitably my life will contain rough edges, the layers will never be perfectly parallel, small parts may fall apart, and I may have to rebuild. Regardless, if I keep on building, decision after decision, mixing precision with intuition, eventually, I’ll construct a life of which I am proud.