Wisconsin in Story and Song;: Selections from the Prose and Poetry of Badger State Writers
General
Wisconsin in Story and Song;: Selections from the Prose and Poetry of Badger State Writers
American literature -- Wisconsin; Wisconsin -- Literary collections
Such rocks! Rag-carpets woven in garnet and topaz; petrified Oriental
rugs; granites in endless designs of Scotch mixture, as if each
bowlder were wearing the plaid of its clan; big, uncouth, scabiose,
ignorant-looking hardheads that opened with a heart of rose,--each one
a separate album opening to a sample from a different quarry. I have
seen cloven field-stone that deserved a hinge and a gold clasp; I have
one in sight now which is such a delicate contrast of faintest rose
and mere spiritual green that it is like the first blush of dawn.
Imagine smiting a rock until the fragments sting you in the face, and
then seeing it calmly unfold the two wings of a moth! I have broken
into a rock which pleased me so well that I held it in mind in order
to match it; but though I had the pick of a hundred and sixty loads
that summer I never found another. There is "individuality" for you.
Some of them are "niggerheads." These are the hardest rock known to
practical experience. There are those that have refused to succumb to
the strongest hitters in the country. Some of them will break and
others will not; the only way is to try. Fortunately I had had some
early training as a blacksmith; but this was as if the smith were
trying to break his anvil. I have seen the steel face of a hammer chip
off without making a mark on one. And yet the glaciers wore them off
to make soil and left them rounded like big pebbles! I never realized
what ground is, till I became acquainted with the stones that did the
grinding.
My fence was eight to ten feet in thickness and shoulder high; and
similar windrows of rock ran over the moraine in all directions, like
a range upon a range. It is, of course, valuable land that warrants a
wall like that. The barley-field might easily have defied a siege-gun
on all four sides, for it had had so many bowlders on it that they had
been built up into more of a rampart than a windrow. On a near-by
field from which the timber had been removed, but which,
notwithstanding, was far from "cleared," it looked as if it had hailed
bowlders. You could have forded your way across it without putting a
foot to ground. I have seen places where the glaciers had deposited
rocks in surprising uniformity of size, and as thick as the heads of
an audience (a comparison that means no harm, I trust).
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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