Chapter 5. ROCKOHOLIC AGRONOMISTS
“Thunk!!!”
The piercing sound reverberated against the far valley wall and echoed back, sending vibrations rippling up my spine. I have felt taller ever since.
“Thunk!!!”
I knew the instant I heard that sound Barker Ajax was no longer a stranger on our land. Although he’d always remain a breed apart. Unlike any other man I’d known.
I understood, without understanding how I understood, a man could become whoever he wanted to be. He could be many things, live his life many ways, go wherever he chose, achieve whatever he wanted. Take his dog with him.
And all the while remain true to himself.
“Thunk!!!”
When Mom and Rhino and I came hurrying down the slope, the dogs were already there, the four of them watching with interest like front row spectators as Barker swung another rock into place.
“Thunk!!!”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?,” Rhino asked, although the answer seemed self-evident. Clearly, the man was building a stone wall and he’d already made quite a start.
Barker paused in his labors, used a bright red kerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He was naked from the waist up, his impressive musculature glistening.
“I was hoping Ms. Moscowitz might invite me to stay for some more home cooking,” he said smiling broadly – happily – before returning to his task.
“I’ll call you when it’s time to eat,” Mother answered, somewhat gaily herself. I watched her walk back to the house and I could swear I saw her lightly skip a few steps like a little girl playing hookey.
Rhino stood with his hands on his hips, undecided about his next move. Barker looked up, a good-sized stone balanced easily on one hip, their eyes locked for an instant, and there was nothing for Rhino to do but pitch in. Me, I sat down next to my puppy and listened as Barker gently shared his expertise.
He aimed his words in my general direction, but the lessons were there for Rhino, too. If he cared.
Someday I will probably want to build a stone wall of my own.
“Thunk!!!”
Imagine the wall is finished, create a picture in your mind, the length, width, height, then fill in the blank space with stone. Visualize the completed job done right.
Think of the stonewall as a puzzle with many pieces, but a single rule: put one stone on two, two stones on one.
Barker wielded a shovel like Mother handled a darning needle, and he quickly had uncovered a place for the first rocks to nest and rest. Rhino saw his initial mistake in a hurry.
A strong wall needs a solid footing. That’s the difference between a stone wall and a long straight pile of rocks, so you start by digging a bed for the bottom stones, preferably below the frost line. The best footing stones usually weigh a couple of hundred pounds. And they don’t come with handles.
Use the heaviest stones at the bottom of the wall, so you don’t have to lift them any higher than necessary.
Dig the hole to fit the rock. Think of the stone as male, the hole as female. The soft accommodates the hard, not vice versa.
“Thunk!!!”
Listen to the rock. Let the stones themselves tell you where they should go.
Barker and Rhino, at first I thought they looked like excavating equipment, chugging away relentlessly. The more I watched, the more I realized that image did neither man justice. No, they were better than machines.
Barker moved with a silken ease no mechanical contraption has yet attained. Each move appropriate to the demands of the stone. Nothing extra. He wasn’t showy, you noticed his fluidity by the absence of apparent effort, by what you didn’t see.
Rhino had his shirt off now, too. Sloping shoulders topped a brawny back so broad you could sell advertising space. Beefy slabs of sinewy muscle strung together by steely ligaments like cables. A human bulldozer. Okay, a machine in that respect, abnormally powerful. But flesh and blood all the same, living, breathing, feeling.
Around lunchtime, I heard a growl, it was my stomach. So, I went up to the house. Mom was pulling a long cast iron muffin pan out of the oven. By the time I’d wolfed down a sandwich, the muffins, made from bananas gone soft, were still piping hot. I took a couple off the top of the pile, stuck one in my mouth and another in my pocket. With Mongo bumping into my legs, begging, I took the rest down to the men at work.
They didn’t seem inclined to take a break, hunger having taken a back seat to the task at hand, but the aroma of the muffins got to them in a big hurry. Besides, with four dogs around, you can’t simply leave a plate of goodies unattended. Wouldn’t be smart.
By the time I got back with a pitcher of iced tea, the pile of muffins had evaporated. Rhino burped, Barker belched, that was all the thanks I got, before the wall building resumed. At least nobody farted.
“Thunk!!!”
A stone’s strength is its size and its only motivation is gravity. Man’s strength is his motivation. Leverage does the rest. Your brain is your best tool, so use your head to protect your back.
Handling heavy objects isn’t really a matter of brute strength, it’s more about understanding leverage, balance, angles, how your muscles actually work, the mechanics of lifting.
Rhino obviously liked the challenge of using his great strength, testing himself against heavier and heavier loads. Barker, on the other hand, seemed to take great pride in exerting himself as little as possible, to see how little energy he could get away with using.
Use your power in brief bursts to clear thresholds, rest when you get there. Once you get the load moving, use its own momentum to keep it moving. Don’t try to do it all at once. Make small gains, then consolidate them.
Once Rhino stumbled and would have tumbled backwards, continuing to hold onto his heavy load, but Barker sensed the danger faster than you can say ‘Call 9-1-1.’ He stepped behind the other man, bracing the both of them upright.
“How come a stone, same size, same material as another, can seem to vary so much in weight?,” Rhino wondered as he struggled to maintain his tenuous grip on this one particularly obstinate boulder.
“Density can make the difference, I suppose,” Barker replied as he helped Rhino with his ornery burden. “But, for me, the rock remains the same. It’s the man who changes. We pay less attention. Our grasp is not as sure. We haven’t planned our moves properly. We approach one rock differently than another. We tire, yet the stone does not.”
“Thunk!!!”
Rhino was thick-headed. He didn’t come by his name accidently. But soon you could see he was enjoying himself as the wall finally started to take shape. He had begun to understand how this work was done. You can’t force the rock with brute strength, no matter how hard you try.
A ton of stone must be moved to build a yard of wall three feet high, Barker said. Rhino merely grunted in response.
As far as I could tell, Barker liked to build stone walls and Rhino didn’t and that seemed to make all the difference. Barker enjoyed the actual process, Rhino desired the end result. Barker was creating a natural sculpture, Rhino was organizing yard litter.
Fun is about attitude, not activity, I guess.
Occasionally, I’d wander off when I felt the need for some action of my own. I was trying to teach Mongo how to play basketball. We had a hoop attached to the side of the barn where I spent countless hours practicing my shot – my entire arsenal needed work – and the puppy spent almost as many hours getting in my way.
Mongo couldn’t shoot the ball at all. He’d go for a rebound, get good position under the basket, pushing against my legs with his big butt, realizing always at the last second he better not catch the ball in his teeth.
Besides, he was way too short.
Mongo was, however, a naturally tenacious defensive specialist. Built close to the ground, quick on his feet, all four of them, he’d go after the ball like it was a barbecued pork chop. The great Michael Jordan himself couldn’t dribble around this puppy. Although you could still fake him out of his collar with a behind-the-back dribble.
“Wait until he has his brain delivered,” Mom had told me, “then he won’t be so easy to fool.”
I’d wander back.
The two men worked side by side silently, as if talking would only waste breath better used for moving stone. The only words spoken, when Barker did something new, he’d offer an explanation.
Every six feet or so, about the length of a full-grown man, set a long stone across the wall’s width, like a rafter in a house, to keep the thing from falling down into itself.
Balance is the key. The earlier you respond, the easier it is to maintain control. The quicker your reaction, the less strength is required. Use the opposing force to achieve your desired result.
You react fastest when you understand your opponent. Think of your opponent as your partner. Don’t fight him, embrace him. Don’t wrestle, dance.
Think like the rock. Love the rock.
“Thunk!!!”
The day grew hotter and hotter, the men worked on and on. The stone wall grew longer and longer, one rock on two, two rocks on one.
There’s a rhythm to stone work. Literal hard rock music. The beat-beat-beat taken from granite.
Barker liked to drop the stones into place just to hear the sound pound. “Thunk!!!” The more solid, the better.
Shake the rock, if it rattles, roll the stone until it fits solid. Let it gather moss there.
Tight fits are what it’s all about. Being in the right place at the right time. Finding the proper niche.
The stones want to work together. A stone alone is just another rock. Stones fitted tightly together, like a team joining hands, is a wall. And a wall serves.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!” Rhino let out the most blood-curdling scream as he smashed his finger between two stones. “Fuck! Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!,” he bellowed as he hopped around, holding his hand and grimacing in excruciating agony.
Did you ever notice how some grown-ups save their worst words for the biggest calamities? That’s how you can tell they’re serious.
Andy ran for the house and Mongo tried to bury himself in my lap. I covered my ears. Diva darted around nervously, wanting to help her master, but wise enough to stay away from him.
“And a rock feels no pain,” Barker said solemnly.
Remember to let go of the stone.
Mother came running, alarmed. By now Rhino, his face flushed, had gained control of himself.
“You should put some ice on that right away,” she said.
More calmly than usual, for no one – no one ever – told Rhino what he should do, he thanked her for her concern.
“Now, let’s get back to work,” he said, looking at Barker almost pleadingly. Wasn’t a look I’d seen before, not from Rhino.
Then the two of them returned to the pile of rocks.
“Thunk!!!”
Don’t work barefoot. Don’t work in the rain, the rocks and the ground both become slippery. Above all, don’t rush.
The beat-beat-beat went on. One on two, two on one. Two on one, one on two. Once in a while, one or the other, Barker or Rhino, would chance a glance at his cohort in some silent statement of support.
You know the old saying, work fascinates me, I could watch it for hours. I must have drifted off to dreamland.
When I awoke, my arm had fallen asleep where Mongo’s head had been laying against it. Rhino and Barker were still working fiercely, albeit slower, moving steadily, as if by rote. Muscle memory. Both men seemed numb to fatigue, slogging away long after lesser laborers would have called it quits.
I got the distinct impression neither one of them wanted to be the first to cry “Uncle.” An expression I never have figured out.
The wall.
I rubbed my eyes, which I had trouble believing. The stunning stone wall snaked straight along that entire stretch of woods, corresponding precisely to the length of Mother’s garden. Working together, the two men had managed to move a mountain of rock.
Just then I heard Mom’s voice call out. “Dinner’s ready. Come and get it.”
Followed closely by another “thunk!!!” and a “thud!,” as Barker deposited a final stone in place, while Rhino dropped his rock where he stood. He wasn’t standing so good anyway, stooped over and stiff. And Barker was worn to a nub, his usual light-footed agility reduced to a stilt-legged stagger. Two candles burnt out on both ends.
Never seen Rhino appear more pleased than he did lurching up the hill toward the house.
“My arms ache real bad,” he complained, somewhat proudly, “all that repetitive motion,”
“Know just what you mean,” Barker said. “Called the Carpe Diem Syndrome.”
I had to ask. “Huh?”
“Squeeze the day.”