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Set in stone: Ontario man turns the clock back at ancestral farm

Glenn J. Lockwood, 67, takes a break from dry-stacking stone at his farm in Newbliss, Ont. (Stu Mills/CBC - image credit)
Glenn J. Lockwood, 67, takes a break from dry-stacking stone at his farm in Newbliss, Ont. (Stu Mills/CBC - image credit)

After moving hundreds of tonnes of rock, 67-year-old Glenn J. Lockwood still describes himself as "essentially lazy" — just looking for an easier way to maintain his lawn.

A wooden snake rail fence made of eastern cedar used to line the driveway of his ancestral farm in Newbliss, Ont., just south of Smiths Falls, which was difficult to mow around and needed constant repair. He didn't need to look far to find a better and sturdier solution.

As a historian who has written extensively on the Irish settlement history of the area, Lockwood knew the materials for a better fencing system were literally laying at his feet.

"It's a rock pile, you can't put a spade down one foot even," he said.

Stu Mills/CBC
Stu Mills/CBC

His ancestors arrived on the 50-acre parcel of land in the 1840s, but were able to acquire more land as the original settlers gave up the rocky soil for the comparatively easy life in town.

"Over time we acquired some of the worst land you will see in Central Canada, which goes a long way to explaining why we have so many stone fences," joked Lockwood.

His ancestors' stone work is shown in a century-old photograph on the dust jacket of Montague: A Social History Of An Irish Ontario Township 1783-1980, a 600-page stone-by-stone account completed by Lockwood 40 years ago.

Wall becomes tourist attraction

The author and archivist insists he's not trying to bring back a countryside vista that vanished with progress, but today a dry-stone wall project, which began in earnest 10 years ago, spans hundreds of metres and attracts enthusiasts and admirers from around eastern Ontario.

He cites two keys to making progress: get an early start in the morning so he isn't interrupted by admirers, and set out manageable goals.

"Just three wheelbarrows of stone in the morning and you're free for the day," he insists. "But on a fine winter's day when you look out the window, you have something to show for those hours' work."

Though he agrees the long, straight lines of carefully placed stones have taken over his property and perhaps his life, he isn't worried about wearing out a second or even a third wheelbarrow.

"I think if you enjoy doing something, why would you stop?"

Submitted by Glen J. Lockwood
Submitted by Glen J. Lockwood

Building 'beautiful with brokenness'

For John Shaw-Rimmington, the president of Dry Stone Walling Across Canada, the ancient art of assembling durable stone walls without mortar is enjoying a bit of a renaissance.

He attributes that partly to the power of social media, but also how the ancient material give its handlers a feeling of youthfulness.

"A stone wall echoes on past us and predates us, too," said Shaw-Rimmington, who teaches as many as 10 building classes each year.

Stu Mills/CBC
Stu Mills/CBC

A master mason and native of Port Hope, Ont., he calls himself a stone artist and takes a poetic attitude to his media.

"If you are building a stone wall, you are building with broken things," he said. "We build something beautiful with brokenness."

WATCH | Looking for exercise with a practical purpose? Try stepping back in time with a dry-stone wall