Chelsea O’Reilly

I sat under the sun, absorbing the warmth and enjoying the feeling of relaxation from knowing I had time to burn. Looking around at the cool dirt beneath my hands and lacy shadows from the maples surrounding the clearing I spied a long, low row of rocks along the edge of the clearing. It couldn’t have been an old stonewall? Could it? I got up to inspect the rocks up close. Large flat rocks made a base for the wall heading further into the woods. But numerous smaller fist sized rocks were settled along the top.

“Funny way to build a wall…”

“Why do you say that?” asked my friend, walking out of the trees.

“Because it looks like a miniature wall, with all the smaller stones on top,” I replied.

“Well there’s a funny story behind that wall, whether or not it’s true I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you tell me so I don’t sit here wondering?”

…This used to be all farmland with fields and orchards, houses and people; not a forest. Farmers used this land here to keep cattle, horses, sheep, whatever you like. The only problem was that no one wanted to take the time to build sturdy stonewalls to keep the animals on their land.

A traveling monk walked the deserted roads from town to town, working for his meals and seeing the world. He came upon this town of farmers and farmhouses, looking for just a meal and a warm bed for the night. Coming to one white house with black shutter he stopped. A long barn stood to the right where the sounds of cows and chickens could be heard all the way from the dirt road in which he stood. Lights shone through the windowpanes as the monk began to walk up the driveway. His feet crunched under the gravel and the swish of his coat seemed loud against the quiet homestead. Finally coming to the front door he knocked. Once, twice, and a third time; then stepped back.

A woman in her late fifties answered the door, saw him and smiled, “You must work for a meal and bed.”

“I’m no stranger to it, just tell me what needs to be done,” replied the monk.

From behind her came what had to be the husband, “We have no work for a wandering monk. Our cows are fed and cared for, the fields tilled, and garden tended. Other labor would be too much for you.”

“Please sir,” inquired the monk, “I notice your fences are made of wood that easily rots and can be damaged. Let me make you a sturdy rock wall with which to keep your stock.”

The man was known for taking advantage of any situation he could. He eyed the monk and answered, “My back is not what it used to be. However I want a five acre pasture on the far hill,” he pointed behind the monk to a gradual rise behind the barn, “Waist level with gaps for two gates, done in 15 days. We will feed you during that time but if you fail to finish you shall work for me for 15 more days for free.”

The wife started, “Fifteen days? Not even…”

The monk interrupted her, “And who shall check upon my progress?”

“My son shall check every day,” he replied.

“Done,” said the monk finally.

And so the wife gave him soup and some bread, as well as a cot to sleep on in the barn.

“He’s a trickster,” she said, “he expects the impossible for but simple things.”

“Then we shall give him just what he asked for,” answered the monk.

The next morning the monk rose quite early and immediately began collecting rocks. Bringing them to the pasture and making a low wide trail, or base, to begin the wall. Slowly but surely it began to take shape. By the end of the day a good portion was complete. One layer of large stones, a long trail along the far edge of the field was all that was visible from the house.

And so he continued, and from the farmhouse the farmer watched as the monk did all the work.

“He shall never finish going so slow and building it layer by layer,” murmured the farmer one evening.

Slowly, very slowly the monk built the first and second layers of the wall all the way around the pasture. By the seventh day, the first foot of wall was complete.

“He shall never finish,” said the farmer to his son, “you have gone and seen his progress and it only gets harder the higher you go.”

And so the monk continued to work, and the wall grew, taking shape rock by rock. By the eleventh day the wall was almost two feet high when the monk approached the farmer.

“I can have this wall done for you by tomorrow if I work through the night, and I will happily do so if you do but one thing for me,” he said.

The farmer again eyed the monk greedily, thinking the job impossible and the labor that could be accomplished when the monk failed to complete the wall.

“And what would that one thing be?” asked the farmer.

“If I do indeed finish this wall tonight so the sun may see it finished by tomorrow, then you must leave this house and wander as I have for one year.”

The farmer was taken aback, “And why would I agree to something so outrageous?”

“Because you believe the feat impossible, and therefore have not seen enough of the world. If you truly believe the task unattainable, then agree to the terms and I shall work for you for one year, free. If I do complete this wall then you shall have great need to see the world and all the wonders that can be accomplished,” stated the monk

His eyes went wide as the farmer debated the monk’s words, and finally stammered, “I know the task impossible and so agree to you proposal!”

The monk smiled and turned back to the pasture, “So I shall see you tomorrow then!” and walked back to his piles of stones.

All night the monk worked, collecting rocks and bringing them to the wall. It grew slowly, but as the night wore on picked up speed. By pre-dawn the pace at which it grew was extraordinary.

When the farmer arose cheerfully the following morning, all his thoughts were to how much work would be accomplished from the monk staying for one year of free labor. Whistling a tune, he got dressed and walked through the house to the front door. Opening it he expected to see half a fence, with the monk rushing to and fro in an attempt to finish. What he saw was quite the opposite.

There sat the monk peacefully against the completed wall, chewing a piece of hay and whistling a tune.

Astounded the farmer walked up for a closer inspection and stopped in his tracks, “What trick is this!”

“No trick,” replied the monk, “This wall meets all of your specifications, exactly what you asked for and you know it.”

The farmer stared at the wall, which from the front seemed normal enough. However if you were to see it from the side or above they would notice that the wall was only an inch wide at the top. The whole wall was in the shape of a triangle as it went up, and so was waist high, enclosed the five acres, and had two spaces for gates at either end. Still astounded by his foolery, the farmer looked at his son, who had a grin from ear to ear.

“It seems you have met your match,” said the son, who nodded to a bag on the ground next to him, “I took the liberty of packing your things. The sooner you leave the sooner you may return.”

Still starch white and flustered the farmer stared at the bag, and finally with stiff arms and a grimace picked it up and began walking down the road.