On Stones and Walls and Memories
I came upon this photo last week – stone garden walls in a misty rain. It brought to me to my childhood home, called Rock Springs, because of the rocks, I suppose. It also had a spring, but somehow that didn’t etch itself in my memory.
Rather, it was the granite, so much a part of Ellicott City, those stone walls, stone steps, rock gardens, that were such a part of my growing up.
Installed generations before we lived there, I took all for granted. Now I think of those who planned it, and, more so, those whose physical labor put it into place – a herculean task in the 1910s. And of the generations who enjoyed the fruits of that labor.
I left years ago, to be a city-dweller, I said, extolling the virtues of downtown living. Later, much later, Rock Springs was…
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