[NOTE: Yesterday I noticed a discussion in the open thread about stone walls in New England and elsewhere. I thought I’d link to a post I wrote about stone walls, but – as sometimes happens – I discovered there was no such post published and that I was thinking about a draft I wrote many years ago and never published. So perhaps the time has come for it to see the light of day.]
In rural (or even semi-rural) New England the stone walls are just about everywhere:
Walk into a patch of forest in New England, and chances are you will—almost literally—stumble across a stone wall. Thigh-high, perhaps, it is cobbled together with stones of various shapes and sizes, with splotches of lichen and spongy moss instead of mortar. Most of the stones are what are called “two-handers”—light enough to lift, but not with just one hand. The wall winds down a hill and out of sight. According to Robert Thorson, a landscape geologist at University of Connecticut, these walls are “damn near everywhere” in the forests of rural New England.
He estimates that there are more than 100,000 miles of old, disused stone walls out there, or enough to circle the globe four times.
I can well believe it.
When I first moved to New England eons ago, I was puzzled by the ubiquity of those stone walls in the forests. I very quickly learned that the forests are second growth and the walls were built when the land was mostly cleared fields (the rocks themselves were a by-product of clearing the once-glaciated land).
By the middle of the 19th century, New England was over 70 percent deforested by settlers, a rolling landscape of smallholdings as far as the eye could see. But by the end of the century, industrialization and large-scale farms led to thousands of fields being abandoned, to begin a slow process of reforestation.
What actually happened was that the midwest opened up, and farming was so very much better there that farmers moved away. There are still plenty of farms in New England, but they’re small.
More here:
The origins of New England’s wall stones date back to between about 30,000 and 15,000 years ago, when the Laurentide ice sheet—a remnant of which still exists in the Barnes Ice Cap on central Baffin Island—made its way southward from central Canada and then began retreating. “It stripped away the last of the ancient soils,” writes Thorson in “Stone by Stone,” “scouring the land down to its bedrock, lifting up billions of stone slabs and scattering them across the region.”
As the ice sheet melted and receded, it left behind deposits of unsorted material ranging in size from clay to massive boulders chiseled from the slate, schist, granite and gneiss bedrock of northern New England and Canada. The bucolic rolling hills and meadows of New England are formed of rich glacial soil called lodgment till—up to 60 meters thick—that was “almost single-handedly responsible for the success of the agricultural economy in New England,” Thorson says. A thinner, looser layer of rocks and sand called ablation, or “melt out” till was left above the lodgment till. Most stone walls are composed of stones from melt-out till, which were “abundant, large, angular and easy to carry,” Thorson says, compared to the smaller, more rounded stones from the deeper lodgment till.
Although New England’s stone walls are popularly associated with the Colonial era, there weren’t actually many rocks lying around in the soil at that time. As evidence, Thorson cites Swedish botanist Peter Kalm, who toured New England in the mid-1700s. In his “Travels in North America,” Kalm observed of its forest soils, “[T]he Europeans coming to America found a rich, fine soil before them, lying loose between the trees as the best in a garden. They had nothing to do but to cut down the wood, put it up in heaps, and to clear the dead leaves away.”
Likewise, Colonial-era books on farming, encyclopedias and recorded observations do not mention stone walls, Thorson notes. Instead of stone walls, Colonial farmers used rail and zig-zag fences made of wood—far more abundant at the time than stone—to pen animals. It wasn’t until the latter half of the 18th century that early stone walls were first widely constructed in New England. Even then, other than in long-farmed interior areas such as Concord, Mass., the stone was typically quarried or taken from slopes rather than from fields.
The region’s stones lay deep in the ground, buried under thousands of years’ worth of rich composted soil and old-growth forests, just waiting to be freed by pioneers clear-cutting New England’s forests—a process that reached its peak across most of New England between 1830 and 1880…
I hadn’t known that. I’d assumed the stones had been there for the earliest of settlers from Europe. But the stones were actually products of forest clearing, and it got worse in a snowball effect:
Widespread deforestation exposed New England’s soils to winter cold—scientists estimate winter was 1 to 1.5 degrees Celsius colder on average during the Little Ice Age than it is today—causing them to freeze deeper than they had before. This accelerated frost heaving, and gradually lifted billions of stones up through the layers of soil toward the surface.
These stones weren’t conducive to farming, so, aided by their oxen, farmers hauled the stones to the outer edges of pastures and tillage lands, typically unceremoniously dumping them in piles that delineated their fields from the forest. (Some of these so-called “dumped walls” would later be relaid more intentionally when improved tools and equipment made rebuilding easier.) In the early days, artistry in stone wall building had to wait. The first priority was survival, which meant clearing land to grow crops and raise livestock.
The settlers were not unfamiliar with the process, either, because “New England” turns out to be aptly named:
…[R]ock in New England is similar to rock in England and Scotland. England and New England have similar natural landscapes because both lands have a similar geologic history. Millions of years ago, England and New England were formed within the same mountain range near the center of Pangaea. So, he says, “the similar fieldstones on opposite sides of the Atlantic were created practically within the same foundry.”
But there was one important difference between these New World and Old World stones: Britain had long been deforested, with its subterranean stones brought to the surface, so its stone walls had been constructed hundreds, if not thousands, of years earlier.
Much much more at the link.
And then – of course – there’s Robert Frost on the subject.
I’ll close with a scene from one of my favorite movies, Jan Troell’s “The Emigrants.” Warning: this scene is not a cheerer-upper. The film is set in Sweden during the mid-1800s, and this clip illustrates one of the many many reasons this family and many others emigrated to Minnesota:


