~by Margaret Darroch
To quote from a book by Eric Sloane, “You can seldom
explain likes or dislikes”, but I have always been attracted to structures made
of stone. Stone houses, stone fences,
stone bridges. Nearly 20 years ago when
I purchased the property, it was natural that I name our modest 10 acres with a
stone foundation bank barn on Stone Road, “Stone Hollow Farm”. The land gently slopes from the high point
of the Ridge Road down to the hollow where a tributary of Jeddo Creek flows.
The barn and front paddock are cradled on the east side of road and show off
like a jewel when approached from any direction. I often tell people I bought
the property because of the barn.
Our area of Western New York is known for its
stone construction. Early land owners
cleared their fields for plowing and harvested the small lake rocks,
“cobblestones” left behind by the glacier that crept and melted to fill the
basin that was to become Lake Ontario. If
you have ever spent time clearing rocks from a field or have had the tremendous
displeasure of trying to dislodge a stone buried right were you wanted a fence
post to go, you will appreciate the dedication it must take to collect enough
to build a house from. A leisurely Sunday drive east on the Ridge Road towards
Rochester will provide a visual feast of cobblestone structures. The cobblestone museum in Childs NY is a
treasure trove of information and can be enjoyed after a pleasant brunch at the
Village Inn, located a stone’s throw from the museum grounds (pun intended).
While I find cobblestones lovely, my favorite
has always been cut and field stone buildings.
Our main barn on the farm has a field stone foundation. The walls are an intricate puzzle that the
original builder pieced together using large field rocks from the property,
some the size of small boulders. They
fit together leaving a fairly smooth face with colors of several different rock
types and joined with cement heavy with lime.
Several years ago, a barn historian told me our barn was a “show barn”
based on some of the building materials and its impressive height of 40’. While I love how if standing at ground level you have to sweep
your head back with your chin up in the air to appreciate how tall it is, I
most love how the stone walls are such a pleasant backdrop for the sturdy barn
doors and nine pane windows.
It would have been hard to
grow up here and not have an appreciation for stone. The Town of Hartland is just a few miles, as
the crow flies, from the shores of Lake Ontario. In other places of the world you go to the
shore to collect shells. Here we collect stones. The Canadian side of the lake
is mostly sand, but the shore of the American side is covered with small stones
made silky smooth by the lapping of the waves.
I was blessed to have an Aunt and Uncle who owned a cottage there and
spent much time in the summer walking the quiet shoreline. The stones you find at the very edge of where
the waves stretch and then retreat are turned into brilliant gems when they are
washed by the water and left to glisten in the light. As a child, all their sizes and colors made
it impossible for me to ignore. There was also the challenge of having to walk
over the stones with tender young feet to reach the water for a swim. There was no such thing as swim shoes in
those days. You were just expected to
tough it out. The biggest struggle was
the decision to either endure the discomfort of your feet for the next ten to
fifteen feet until you reached the sand bar, or belly flop into the frigid
water and gasp for breath until your body adjusted to the temperature. The stones left an impression and each visit
meant collecting at random and then sorting through and taking the best
specimens home, as many as my parents thought appropriate. I don’t think I have outgrown my first love.
Several years ago I was asked
by a cousin who lived out of town to help coordinate a surprise party for my
Aunt Pat’s 80th birthday. My
Aunt stilled lived locally and she needed someone to meet with the owners of
the venue, find a cake decorator and plan the decorations. I wanted the centerpieces for the tables to
evoke memories and serve as a topic of conversation. I asked my cousin to send a disc of old
family photos which I printed out on tracing paper and glued in a Triptych of
glassless frames to house a candle. The
effect was beautiful and rendered the emotion I was hoping for from the guests
the afternoon of the party. What
surprised me though was the reaction the bases of the centerpieces
created. I spent several hours during the
weeks before the party with my friend Vickie at the shore collecting small
rocks. I washed them and gave them a
coat of sealer to create the affect the water has on them. The stones were used to surround the picture
frames on a base in the center of each table. A handful of stones on each
centerpiece had words pasted on them like, “family”, “love”…etc. The lake stones were just as talked about as
the old photos illuminated by candlelight.
After the party I discovered that the stones were gone. My cousins had taken them home. At first I was disappointed. I had planned to keep them myself. Then it
dawned on me that they had spent their childhood collecting rocks at the lake
too and it was like taking a piece of “home” home. I have wondered how Security at the airport must have reacted to
all the rocks, but I suppose they have seen everything.
I keep stones as my traveling companions. They sit in a cubby on the dash of my truck
in plain view like old friends. One was
given to me by my friend Arthur who saved it for me from a trip he took to
Wales. It is round and cream colored
with a hint of green. I never had a
green rock before. The other was painted
by my friend Sandy to look like a lady bug.
I am not sure how or why they ended up as my travel buddies. I thought about taking them out a few times
but decided we all feel at home together in my truck.
I started this blog with the
thought that we can seldom explain our likes or dislikes but maybe that’s not
true. I think I may have gotten to the
bottom of why I love stone structures. I
will even confess that once after a trip I hugged my stone barn before walking
through the doors again for the first time. There is a sense of grounding I get
from stone structures, a sense of permanence and peace. What resonates with you?