Clearly, dry stone walling was not a money making solution. I took it up late in life after being made redundant and once I got started I never looked back. While there is plenty of work, it is not always of the quality and remuneration I would like and I have to drive a long way to do it. However, given a fine day in the Peak district there is nothing I would rather do. I no longer have to worry about running joints or spend seconds wondering about where to put the next stone or swapping stones to find one that fits. It sort of flows without my having to think about it. It also frees my mind from other concerns and this is what to me is zen and the art of dry stone walling. It is therapeutic and relaxing but it is also hard work.
Zen and the art of Dry Stone Walling
The picture above appears to be of a Buddhist contemplative garden, a far cry from the wind swept hills of the Peak District. I live in an area crisscrossed by what I (probably wrongly call) Yorkshire walls, up to a metre wide at the base tapering to a flattish top about a metre plus high with a vertical capstone. This system however has been transplanted to the Mount Lofty Ranges of South Australia, primarily as stock fences.
I have built a number of walls and buildings using dry stone and even though I appreciate the “flow of the stone” there are times when it can drive you nuts which depends on a large degree to the shape of available stone. My major project was a winery wall which I did far too good a job on, got paid a miserable pittance for and destroyed my crooked spine. I have just finished two small walls (very carefully) and thought to write a dissertation entitled, you guessed it, Zen and the Art of Dry Stone Walling with apologies to Robert Pirsig for nicking the theme from. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Now I’ll have to add another apology. David Formby (originally of the Lancashire Formbys.