Taken from Lynne’s weekly column ‘Green Scene’ for the Western Mail
18th November 2023
Stone in Love
What a week it’s been.
Regular readers – and/or people that know me quite well – will know that I have a passion for stone. I indulge this passion in various guises, from dry stone walling, stacking stones (definitely not the same thing) and I even had a small stone engraving business for a couple of years. The stone engraving I did was ‘mechanical’ in so far as I used to design and cut the appropriate stencils and then use a sand blasting set up to ‘engrave’ the stone or slate through them. It was mostly satisfying but never felt very ‘respectful’ to the stone or authentic to myself. When I wrapped that business up, I promised myself that one day I would learn to do it ‘properly’.
As well as a long love affair with stone, I also adore words and the thought of carving words into stone just ‘makes perfect sense’ to me.
So, last week I made the first ‘perfect sensible’ step toward that promise, by having one-to-one tuition with local stone carver and letter-cutter, Jane Turner. Not surprisingly, I was completely and utterly mesmerised by the whole process of ‘cutting letters’, and now am slightly obsessed by it!
Jane works from the most beautiful garden workshop at the bottom of her garden in Abergavenny, and as well as being an absolute ‘master’ of her craft, she is a pretty impressive teacher of it too. Believe me, the two don’t always go hand in hand and I am reminded of the saying, “When the pupil is ready, the teacher will appear.”
The best measure of my concentration and enjoyment is that for the whole 4 hours, I didn’t think (or worry) about anything else. Not a thing. It is not a ‘quick’ craft to learn – and shouldn’t be – but it is absolutely all-absorbing. The rhythmical tap-tap of the dummy hammer on the chisel, the gradual emergence of something out of a solid flat surface; noticing the change of tap-tap to a congratulatory ‘ring’ when you get it spot on and the sound of the chisel on the slate changing (honestly) as you ‘happen’ on the right angle, is just so soothing to the soul.
I think that simple (not the same as easy) things done in a way that requires commitment and patience just have a way of making us feel complete and relaxed, or at least will take your mind off the ‘mundane’ for a while.
As with all aspects of nature and working with the elements, I think there are so many connections to be made. The gentle tap-tap onto the slate reflects an even more gentle tap-tap into ourselves; the need to relax the body and yet retain the focus of the mind (a bit like rubbing your tummy and patting your head at the same time), the ‘revelation’ of the letters out of a blank piece of slate. It’s all just beautiful and organically mindful. In a world of technology, to be able to work so effectively with just two tools – that don’t even need charging – also made me very happy. As someone who even struggles to keep her mobile phone charged, I embrace any return to a basic skill.
As well as creating bespoke pieces, Jane offers one-to-one tuition in stone carving and letter-cutting, and can also accommodate small groups. With Christmas galloping toward us, I think it would make a perfect present for, or even antidote to, the frenzied festive season. More details at www.stonemasonandcarver.co.uk
Seed to Dust
And whilst in my state of ‘stone bliss’, another wonderful woman, Daisy Evans, unexpectedly gifted me a book, ‘From Seed to Dust’ with the words, “I read this and thought of you.”
Oh-my-goodness-me. You will have heard (or read) me wax lyrical about many books in this column – and all from a wide range of subjects – but this book hit me straight in the heart like a whippy branch and like no other book has ever done. I wept and have tears in my eyes writing this – not from sadness (although there are moments) but from pure and utter resonance. It’s as though the author, Marc Hamer has been watching me my whole gardening life and has written about it. Of course, it is his own journey but the ‘that’s me, that’s me’ similarities are just ‘tail-waggingly wonderful’.
If that wasn’t enough, I then learn that Marc lives in Cardiff with his wife, Kate, also an author. I don’t know how his books (there is a trilogy now) haven’t crossed my muddy path before but I suppose it is all about timing.
About three years ago, when his knees threw in the towel, he retired from the ‘hands-on’ stuff and in a recent interview he is quoted as saying, “I am still gardening, but I am gardening me,” and he described himself on Instagram recently as “barefoot and grubby” – remind you of anyone?
The simple observation, “Working as a gardener, you don’t go home and do your own garden. You’re too tired. You go home and fall asleep in the chair” – made my eyes watery again, so tired after a day working outdoors in the wind and the rain. It felt like validation.
Marc also believes that gardening (and for me stone walling and now letter cutting) requires focussed attention, or mindfulness in its original form. He adds that this is also the gateway to a deeper meditation.
Maybe I’m hormonal, maybe the stone lettering ‘tap-tapped’ into the more vulnerable side of me, the part that often doesn’t feel heard or seen in my deliberately-isolated gardens, or maybe Marc is just a super-special observer and communicator.
I think every reader will get something different from each of his books, but I think the ‘arrows’ that pierced me the most are firstly his understanding and portrayal of what it is to live a life of manual labour. There is nothing like it. The pain of aching joints, the sting of constantly thorn-filled fingers and the obsession with the weather and it’s moods and yet all tempered by the fulfilment of an ‘honest tiredness’ at the end of the day. And of course all manual labour is decorated with a nagging sprinkle of, “You know you are not ‘physically’ going to be able to do this forever.”
And secondly, the fact that all of my waking hours are spent ‘spotting’ things from a gardening perspective. I look at tree silhouettes and ache to ‘prune a rogue branch’ even if it is 50 ft up; when out walking Yogi, I can’t resist stripping seed-heads in the hedgerows with my finger and thumb and then scattering them as we amble on – and I find it hard to walk up anyone’s garden path without wanting to bend over and pull a few weeds.
Gardening for a living may be very different from gardening as a pastime, but the magic, merits and mindfulness is the same. And for that, despite a bad back, broken (and lost) fingernails, ‘muddy everything’ and a constant quest for suitable outdoor clothing, I am eternally grateful.
As indeed I am to Marc (www.hamerwriter.com) for his writing and Daisy for her introduction.
That’s the best newsletter written by you that I have read in years.