The Monolith

We spent all day working on one stone. A ten foot long granite monolith abandoned in an old quarry on the coast of Maine.

We transported the excavator to the former quarry and walked it down an old dirt road into a small clearing in the woods. We moved the stones surrounding our sleeping giant as delicately as possible, taking the extra time to strap them and move them gently with the excavator. Stones like that have a tangible presence. They’ve been sitting there so quietly for so long, we found ourselves almost whispering.

We got our stone out of the pile unscathed. When rocks have this much patina, scratches from the excavator’s teeth or from banging against other rocks can break the spell of timelessness.

We walked the colossal stone back down the gravel road and loaded it into the truck. We put the excavator back on the trailer and towed it back to the job site where we unloaded it again. The site is so tight, too tight, really, for what we were trying to do, so we returned the trailer to the quarry for more space. We came back to the site, and, with nerves on edge, unloaded the stone from the truck.