Connecting With Stonemasonry

 

A rough stone base links this 1913 bungalow to its rocky upland site

When I said ‘yes’ to buying an old house built on a stone foundation, I had no idea of the new headaches I was agreeing to as a result. We tend to see things made of stone as permanent (part of their charm) whereas materials like wood we more easily accept need periodic maintenance. But stone needs attention too, only over much longer intervals if it was well brought off originally. And as many do with houses, I went for the whole enchilada without closely examining all the parts, then gradually awoke to the realities of the work needed in order to stabilize and repair the building.

As I settled into my new home, I began noticing among other things that its sturdy stone base in fact sported some breaches. It turns out that seventy-five years of exposure to weather with minimal maintenance will do that to a foundation held together with mortar. The materials comprising it were ordinary at best, mostly collected on site I surmised, and randomly set without conscious patterning or coursing. A lot of different shapes and sizes of stone had gone into that foundation, with a crazy-quilt of seams as a result. Here and there enlarging cracks offered openings to the shallow crawl space lying behind them. Earth shifting, courtesy of forces like tree root expansion or earthquake tremors, plus the annual effects of freeze-thaw cycles, can crack and degrade even the sturdiest walls over time. In some spots the base of the wall was actually coming unglued and starting to dilapidate.

 

 

As roots expand, they raise the surrounding soil and easily crack rock walls

 

Section of wall broken by expanding tree roots, needing care and attention

 

I also began noticing signs of slapdash fix-ups, careless work that had simply smeared mortar across the face of the stone. These sloppy repairs (what the English dismissively call 'bodges') leapt to my eye like carbuncles. So of course my first thought as a naive homeowner with low DIY skills was to involve someone more skilled (‘call the plumber!’) to address the problem.

But back then I didn’t know anything about stone masonry, so I talked a bricklayer I’d hired to fix some spalling chimney bricks into patching up an area on the south wall of the house. I simply assumed that the skills required were one and the same. He was a bit disinclined, a cue I should have taken, but then he agreed to do the job. Once his patching was done, I completely got his hesitation. In contrast to the neat bands of mortar he placed precisely between the courses of the bricks he relaid, his approach to stone involved smearing mortar all over the joints. I’m unsure why irregularity of form should cause that response in a bricklayer, but the results were unfortunate for the look of the foundation. Later on, I spent a few hours chipping away the worst of the smeared cement, to make the joints between stones recede in emphasis and to restore something approximating the original look.

 

 

Mortar smeared across the seams obscures the look of a stone wall

 

A section of rubble stone foundation wall whose base I eventually rebuilt

 

While watching the bricklayer go at this work, I realized how ungainly his attempts to get the mortar into these wandering seams actually were. Using a pointed mason’s trowel for the carry and a smaller one to push mortar into the seams simply didn’t cut it. Pointed trowels may be great tools for dressing bricks before they're placed, but for infilling irregular seams in a rubble stone wall, it clearly wasn’t workable. The outcome argued against continuing further down this path. The thought dawned that I myself needed to learn how this type of work should be done, so I could avoid further damage to the look of the building. I don’t know why I opted to get personally involved rather than just finding someone who was a skilled stone mason, yet it was but a small step from there to begin working directly with stone. 

 

 

Ongoing repair: the buttress base needs attention

 

A stone base under a house creates a distinctive impression, gluing the building firmly to its site in a very particular way. If the rock used is collected from the site itself and the building is placed on bedrock, the house feels very firmly ensconced in the surrounding landscape. But let that look become marred by walls that are entombed in concrete and the stone is thereby demoted to an indistinct element in a matrix, causing the original aesthetic to be obscured. Taken far enough, the original disappears entirely. You may as well have a full concrete foundation as have rocks masked over with mortar. I thought it important not to go any further along that path.

 

 

 

Seams slathered in mortar, for a messy outcome

 

So that's when I naively began what is now twenty-five years of working with stone and mortar to repair and make things. I wasn't inclined to DIY by nature, had no skill at all when I got on this learning curve, but was curious about the medium and resolved that it was important in maintaining the heritage asset. And I was a gardener, so I had some limited experience making loose rockery walls to retain beds, which resulted in an inclination to pile rocks together. I decided to begin by tackling what seemed the most visible breach first, upping the ante considerably. It appeared at the centre of a low wall between two tall battered stone piers supporting the house’s most prominent feature – an elegant entry verandah that is walked by en route to the front door. It appeared that a few weaker chunks of rock had seams that had popped apart, causing a crack to appear.  

My first job site: a serious breach in the low wall between the piers

 

I hadn’t a clue how to go about making a repair, so I began by observing some other masonry work in progress around the region, mostly of the low stone wall type. Here in Victoria rock often breaks through the landscape, dotting it with outcrops and larger hills not fully covered with vegetation. Bedrock breaking through the landscape defines dramatic contours for the landscape, and loose rock on the surface seems to prompt a lot of boundary marking with stone walls. And because this material is local and often not much worked before it is used, the results often feel natural and fit for their surroundings.

 

 

A small knob of glaciated bedrock protruding through the ground

Rocky outcrops define a landscape with oaks, firs and arbutus groves

Regional character: rock outcrops, Garry Oaks, and low boundary walls

The operations I observed and the masons I chatted with all used mortar that was made from scratch, combining sand, cement and water in mechanical mixers to produce large batches at a time. My first problem was that none of this apparatus would fit in at my site, which had no place to store and mix sand and cement that would not have been an eyesore and in the way. Nor were industrial quantities of mortar actually needed for the relatively small and picky repair work I was preparing to attempt. How to access mortar in small quantities was an initial obstacle to my getting started.

 

 

Bodged work stands out and doesn't last

 

 

Things stalled there for a while, until the puzzle of how to make mortar solved itself with the discovery that it came pre-mixed in 25-kilo bags – not exactly a blinding insight, but until you know of the possibility, it doesn't really exist. I learned about it purely by chance, in a buddy’s back garden in North Vancouver, when he enthusiastically shared his rather exuberant approach to building a low retaining wall of stone. I watched fascinated as he whipped up a small batch of bagged mortar in a plastic pail (‘just add water and stir’) then proceeded to use another one of those pointed trowels to rather awkwardly place it. It was a eureka-moment for me - here was a way to make mortar that was manageable for repairs.

If sourcing mortar is one essential, it’s also necessary to have tools that are suited to the work of mixing it up and placing it, with no undue mess. There things stayed murky a while longer. To repair an existing wall, you need a way of transferring small quantities of mortar to niches of varying sizes. This is picky work. And moist mortar is prone to sliding on metal, a bit unpredictably too. And you need to place it with sufficient precision, in awkward spaces and at varying angles, to avoid marring the face of your stones. Otherwise, you risk the look of entombment, which is pointless and inartistic at the same time. 

 

 

Successive bodges mar this stone wall, which even the drains aren't saving

 

Stone retreating behind the mortar, imprisoning it in concrete

 

As I began preparing the breach for repair, I anxiously watched the opening enlarge beyond the apparent problem and the scale of the job increase in tandem. I'd improvised a partial solution to the transfer problem by selecting a compact drywall knife in preference to using a trowel. Initially I chose it just to mix up mortar in the pail – its continuing utility evolved naturally from there. A compact blade offers a horizontal platform from which small quantities of mortar can be eased into seams.  I am still using Quebec-made Richard knives to this day, both for ongoing repair and for new construction.

 

 

Impractical mason's trowel above, more serviceable Richard knife below

 

 

Yet another tool was needed in order to transfer the mortar from the knife to the seam and to work it into place. One day, watching a city worker setting stones in a piece of sidewalk art on Douglas Street, I noticed he was using a table knife to fill and dress the openings. He allowed that he’d ‘borrowed’ it many years ago from his wife, but hadn't ever returned it. He used its narrow blade deftly to work the outside of the seam, so the mortar stayed within the lines and even had a bit of a finished look to it. 

Intrigued, I borrowed an older knife from my own kitchen, a strong but thin blade made of Sheffield steel with a bit of ‘give’ to it. This combination of firmness and give enables a surface tension that’s useful in working mortar into crevices. It mimics the design of a brick mason’s pointing tool, which has a similar spring or tension to it. I soon realized I would need to get mortar into spaces too tight for the width of my knife's blade, so I also acquired several of the pointing tools used by masons (I'm still mystified why the mason I originally hired opted not to use pointing tools to push mortar into the seams rather than slathering it over the stones!).

 

 

Basic tools: kitchen knife (right), Richard knife, variety of tuck pointers

 

While I was still stymied by the challenge of how I would make mortar, I bravely allowed myself to start the job by removing defective pieces. This phase of repair typically establishes the real scope of a project, as loose material behind the breach comes to light. Here it revealed the presence of a brick pier, obviously meant to support the verandah floor in the vertical plane, but now tilting alarmingly due to the brick disintegrating where it had been in contact with wet rock. Evidently, it was the movement of this disintegrating pier that had caused the wall to crack and come apart. This new problem caused me some anxiety about proceeding at my skill level, but I decided it was better to know about it and attempt a repair than to neglect it and likely soon cause an even bigger problem. I was also realizing I'd have to replace some rocks that had actually broken apart, and that compatible materials needed to be found.

Securing the brick pier before fixing the wall

Getting to the point of mortaring anything took a very long time, but a logic for the placement emerged once I located some suitable stone and had dry-fitted it as best I could. A skilled stone mason would be able to visualize an outcome without needing to mock it up, but as a beginner, I needed to see in advance as best I could. The trick here lay in finding material that mates well with what is already in place, so the patch doesn't call attention to itself. My challenge was to fill up the opening as much as possible with a single piece while maintaining a vertical alignment consistent with the rest of the wall. And then to place it and seal it as though it had always been there, leaving no blatant marks of repair. It complicated matters that in this location the bedrock dipped somewhat (photo below).

 

 

Candidate replacement stone, now being positioned for fit

 

There was a lot of loose rock lying about the place, but nothing that felt right for the opening I was dealing with. So I began scouring highway cuts and old excavations looking for available materials, which back then could more readily be found. Finding usable material is part of every job, and compatibility is always an issue when working on an existing structure and striving for seamless repair. Nothing shouts 'bodge' like stark contrasts in materials – unless, that is, it’s sloppily applied mortar! My first structure was well-weathered at seventy-five years of age, made of indigenous stone of various colours and textures – the opposite of green stone of more uniform colour. Mating new and old was a challenge that had to be met by a process of careful selection. 

 

 

Many years later the repair doesn't stand out unduly to my eye

 

Replacement stone that is broadly compatible with the original rocks

 

Eventually I found what I thought was a suitable piece for the large opening, then assembled a supporting cast of smaller pieces to fill in the gaps to neighbouring stones, as well as to other crannies in the wall. It took me a painfully long time to complete this small project, a result of proceeding slowly with novice, awkward hands that were learning how to slide mortar carefully into place (a moving target that) and then smooth it to a uniform face. A comparable awkwardness might be the one a boy experiences when first trying to guide a razor over the contours of the face in order to effect a shave. The kitchen knife however quickly proved invaluable, and in time a rudimentary process for transferring mortar also evolved. The trick was keeping it where it was wanted despite the gravity-fuelled tendencies for it to travel to where it wasn't. I kept a wet sponge and toothbrush handy for cleaning any sloppage from the stones. Vertical seams are bedevilling in this genre of repair, even to this day. A special tool for vertical placement is an obvious gap in the repairer's tool kit.

 

 

Massive stone pier, also in need of base repair

 

 

When finally completed, this first project gave me a sense of satisfaction far beyond the modest scope of the work undertaken. I felt I’d opened a door to the world of stone building and won some knowledge through the execution of the work, despite offending many rules that I was then totally unaware of. And while my hands would be busy with restorative projects indefinitely, completing just one prompted me to wonder what it would be like to make something from scratch. That experience actually lay close to hand: while passing many hours staring at my first repair's slow progress, I also noticed that the massive tapered uprights supporting the verandah's roof were beginning to come unglued at the base. While one of these could be repaired as was, my intuitive feeling was that the other needed a foot, or a plinth, added in order to truly secure it. It appeared that there was a brick support at the heart of the stone pier too, and that as with the wall, the bricks were spalling where the base sat on the moist rock.

Looking back on it, this was a very big leap for a newbie like me. The implications were potentially large, because I was about to modify an original design that was still substantially intact. Indeed, aesthetically and from a distance, it wasn't at all evident that anything at all needed to be done. But looked at closely and carefully, it was obvious that it did in fact need doing, or else risk the integrity of the original column down the line. And I knew I wasn't capable of rebuilding that pier to its current standard. So I decided I would proceed by laying out the design for a new base completely before placing any of the stones permanently – and only go ahead when I was satisfied it would be aesthetically compatible. This was a brave step along the continuum of problem-finding/problem-solving.

 

 

Making the new plinth feel like it was always there

 

This second job led to more searching for appropriate materials that fit in with the existing composition. It was only a minor amount of new construction, but visually it had to be right and so it too advanced at a glacial pace. As compatibility of stone was imperative, I studied the shape of the existing construction and the way the rocks had been put together, to subtly rustic effect. Eventually, by an endless amount of playing around, I got what I thought was a goodish look, meaning one that didn't stand out as incongruous or arbitrary. And with my evolving skill in placing mortar, the job moved slowly but steadily forward in execution (new construction is far easier than repair for the management of mortar). When I look back on this small yet prominent project, I’m amazed I tackled it with so little experience. In effect, this repair is what launched me on the path of new building with stone. Looking at it twenty five years on now, I take satisfaction from the fact that my eye doesn't notice anything amiss, that what was an original artistic ensemble before my hand was on it, remains one after it was.

 

 

Weathering elements, like powder lichen, help the new plinth blend in

 

Down the line there were many such repairs (and there still are) plus a whole lot of stacked garden walls between me and the next bit of new mortared construction. But my choice to tackle repair myself had launched me on a path that continues to elaborate itself 25 years on. I haven't become a stone mason by any means, and it's certainly too late to acquire true journeyman's skills in any systematic way, but my skills have developed in the ways needed to do the jobs of repair and addition required in my own milieu. And using those skills has become an increasingly expressive act that continues to hold my imagination. 

 

 

Dedication: this piece is affectionately dedicated to my too-early-departed friend Dennis McGann, a hugely talented designer, communicator, and artist who, among many other important things, inadvertently turned me on to bagged mortar. Dennis respected and cultivated craft in all his doings and equality in all his dealings with people. He was a fine person, who is sorely missed.