"Finding stone, choosing it, and letting go of it are the three things a waller does. I'd miss any one of them too much if I asked someone else to do them for me. I may work by myself, but I'm not alone. I'm in the company of stone." Daniel Snow is a waller, an artisan who builds walls, terraces, caverns, and the occasional sphere or pool out of dry stone. It's an ancient skill--building with only what the earth provides. No mortar, no nails, nothing to hold his creations together except gravity, an invisible glue he can sense in the stones' "conversations" of squeaks and rumbles. A hollow sound means a void needs to be filled; a solid fit is secured with the sound of a bolt being thrown. Snow's evocative prose and Peter Mauss's richly textured photographs of Snow's work reveal the nuance and beauty of walling--and of one man's relationship with nature. The result is by turns poetic and practical. In the company of stone "Finding stone, choosing it, and letting go of it are the three things a waller does. I'd miss any one of them too much if I asked someone else to do them for me. I may work by myself, but I'm not alone. I'm in the company of stones." Dan Snow is a waller, an artisan who builds walls, terraces, caverns, and the occasional sphere or pool out of dry stone. It's an ancient skill - building with only what the earth provides. No mortar, no nails, nothing to hold his creations together except gravity, an invisible glue he can sense in the stones' "conversations" of squeaks and rumbles. A hollow sound means a void needs to be filled; a solid fit is secured with the sound of a bolt being thrown. Snow's evocative prose and Peter Mauss's richly textured photographs of Snow's work reveal the nuance and beauty of walling - and of one man's relationship with nature. The result is by turns poetic and practical. These walls were built out of necessity, or by way of that motherless invention known as art. It is their 'coming to' that I can tell you about. Since 1976, Dan Snow has been hand-building unique drystone constructions for clients in New England and abroad. He is one of only a handful of Americans certified by Great Britain's Dry Stone Walling Association. He lectures and leads workshops and is the subject of the documentary film Stone Rising . He lives in Dummerston, Vermont. Peter Mauss is a photographer of architecture, interior design, and landscapes. He lives in Vermont and New York. I built these walls out of necessity, or by way of that motherless invention known as art. Whatever reason they came to be, it is their "coming to" that I can tell you about. I am a drystone waller and art maker. Walling is my occupation and has been since 1976. It is also my preoccupation-when I'm not working, I like to think about it. Of the many good reasons to do this for a living-working outside, one that keeps bringing me back for more is walling's endless capacity to surprise. My surprise is in how my perception is changed as stones enter relationships with one another on their way to becoming a wall. When now and again a stone falls into a place that is utterly inevitable, I feel I am suddenly standing under a shower of grace. For an instant I become inevitable, too. I share the compatibility that stone finds with stone. If I'm lucky, it happens a lot. Then again, some days it doesn't happen at all. Grace may fall in the next moment or never again. I know only that if I put myself with stone, it may happen again, so I keep on walling. I am continually surprised and delighted by what the earth has to offer through the handling of its loose stone. Can you imagine anything in static form with greater variety than the stone scattered loosely over the earth? The sky is full of clouds of intense variety, but before we can take a second look at them they've changed. Stones keep their shapes for so long, I don't have to wonder how they may someday change. For the purposes of a waller, stone is immortal. I work alone most of the time, gathering the stone myself for each job, either from a place of my own where loose stone lies naturally in abundance or from the property where I'm building. Finding stone, choosing it, and letting go of it are the three things a waller does. I'd miss any one of them too much if I asked someone else to do them for me. I may work by myself, but I'm not alone. I'm in the company of stone. I have been fortunate to discover my place in the world by way of an intimate contact with the earth's "offspring." The handling of stone sets me squarely between imagining and knowing. All loose stone was at one time part of the living earth. In walling, I bring stone back together, even if artificially and only temporarily, and reunite it with the earth. Walling puts back what has come apart. I spend my days close to the ground. My shoes are scuffed from stamping in the dirt. The palms of my hands are burnished from grabbing stone. I bend so low my head dips below my heart. I'm always tr