Keith Phillips with Celtic cross.

The city of Tenino is a speck on the map of southern Washington. On a drive from Seattle to Portland, you’d probably miss it. But from the late 19th century well into the 20th, Tenino (pronounced Tah-NINE-oh) was known as the Sandstone Capital of the West. Builders from California to Montana kept its three quarries humming as they replaced scores of wood structures destroyed by fires with a stronger, more durable material. Tenino sandstone built the east wing of Washington’s first capitol building and Seattle’s first public library, as well as the Northern Pacific Railroad station in Missoula and churches and schools as far south as Stockton, California. The city’s own business district was lined with gracious sandstone buildings.

In the 1920s, the boom began to fade as builders switched to less expensive materials like brick, concrete, and steel. In what some considered the death blow, Tenino’s own school board chose brick over its native stone to build a new high school. The industry fell into decline and never recovered.

Bringing Sandstone Back

Bag of Groceries sculpture at Tenino Market Fresh Supermarket. Carved by Keith Phillips.

Though the industry is gone, Tenino’s sandstone heritage lives on through the work of master stone carver Keith Phillips, 71, who uses traditional hand tools to carve stone quarried from the last of Tenino’s three quarries. At a modest workshop known as The Shed, he is passing on his skills to a new generation of Tenino stone carvers.

Phillips’ handiwork can be spotted throughout the city—in a large mortar and pestle sculpture in front of the pharmacy, an elaborately-carved cross in front of First Presbyterian Church, and a whimsical sandstone bag of groceries next to the local supermarket. He started carving as a hobby in college after relatives gave him some Tenino sandstone. Later, he made stone fireplaces and did other small jobs. When a position as the quarry’s night watchman arose, he seized it, hanging around old-time quarrymen by day to gain pointers about cutting the stone. He learned carving by trial and error and through books.

Around the same time Phillips began receiving commissions for sculptures, the city started taking an interest in its history, commissioning restoration work on its old buildings. “I fell into a situation made in heaven,” Phillips said.

Ed Salerno carves Hard Candy sculpture.

His reputation spread and he soon had more work than he could handle. He has helped restore the state capitol in Olympia, buildings at the University of Washington, a historic museum in Oregon, a lighthouse, and many other buildings, as well as doing sculptures.

These days, Phillips gets help from Ed Salerno, who visited his studio a few years ago after seeing photos of his work at the city’s museum. A graphic designer, Salerno was intrigued by stone carving but had no experience.

Phillips taught him to carve leaves, then letters, and eventually, entire sculptures. “He built my confidence level, always pushing me toward the next thing,” Salerno said.

Dan Miller at The Shed.

“I shared with Ed as much as I could and he’s pretty much on his own now,” Phillips said. The two do projects together and separately, and recently collaborated on traditional “green man” and “green woman” carvings—faces surrounded by leaves—for a Tenino park.

Several years ago, Phillips and Salerno were joined by Dan Miller, who trained as a stone mason in his native England but had trouble finding work in Seattle, where he moved with his American wife. Impressed with a YouTube video showing Phillips making a sundial, he hunted the artisan down, and now works at The Shed two days a week.

“Working with Keith has changed my life,” Miller said. “It’s real stone carving and he’s a master mason. We’re passionate about what we do, and I can learn a lot from him.”

Keeping Traditions Alive

Though the carvers use electric saws and drills to break down the huge blocks of sandstone they get from the quarry, for restoration and carving jobs they use traditional hand tools, including a mallet, a chisel, a stone cutter’s framing square, and a compass. “It makes you appreciate how skilled the medieval masons were,” Miller said.

Ed Salerno, Dan Miller, Colby Russell, and Keith Phillips.

Softer and easier to carve than granite or marble, sandstone is well-suited to the old instruments. Though there are slight color variations, ranging from bluish-gray to tan, its texture is smooth and uniform. “It has the evenness of white bread, with no bumps,” Phillips said. “You can carve an angel’s face and it will come out with no blemishes.”

In addition to their carving and restoration work, Phillips and Salerno teach stone carving classes at The Shed. Salerno also has a new apprentice, 17-year-old Colby Russell, who is the great-great-great grandson of the founder of one of the local quarries. Like many of the city’s residents, Colby wants its sandstone tradition to live on. “Even if I don’t make carving a career goal, it’s something to hold onto for future generations,” he said.

“It’s important for young people to be exposed to traditional, age-old architecture,” Phillips said. “So many beautiful old buildings that should have been preserved have been torn down. That kind of thinking can change if there are more people like Dan, Ed, and me.”

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Wild Sea sandstone. Photo courtesy of Karin Kirk.

But of all those delectable choices, it was sandstone that stole my heart. Wild Sea. A grey to pale green color with graceful, swooping movement, showing how the water flowed just so, a few million years ago. I imagined gentle waves lapping across my kitchen, and of course, I could hardly wait to tell every houseguest about cross bedding and paleocurrents.

Sandstone sometimes gets a bad rap when it comes to its usefulness and durability, but all sandstones are not equal. Some sandstones are porous and not suited for indoor use, but they make excellent dimension stone and are a natural fit for landscaping projects. Other sandstones are dense and impermeable, making terrific countertops and backsplashes. Read on to learn about the all-important differences in sandstones.

Sandstone is made of… wait for it… sand

Presumably, you’ve wiggled your toes on a sandy beach or river bottom. So you’ve experienced the precursor to sandstone: sand. To a geologist, sand is any piece of mineral or rock that is within a certain size range. Sand is between 1/16th of a millimeter to 2 millimeters. That’s somewhere between fine sugar and coarse cornmeal. Particles larger than sand are called gravel or pebbles, and specks smaller than sand are officially called silt.

Sandstone, by the most basic definition, is any stone that’s made mostly of sand-sized pieces that have been stuck together into a solid rock. That loose definition leaves a lot of room for variation. What minerals are in the sand? How tightly is it stuck together? This is why you can’t lump all sandstones together.

Colors tell us where the stone was formed

For starters, it’s helpful to know what kind of sand we’re talking about. Far and away the most common type of sand is quartz, and hence the most common sandstone is quartz sandstone. Quartz sandstone can be white, light grey, red, yellow, or tan. It’s almost always light colored because quartz is clear or white. The colors come from the mineral cement that binds the quartz grains together.

If a sandstone is dark grey or dark brown, it’s probably made of something other than quartz. Bluestone is a well-known example of sandstone that’s made of feldspar, quartz, mica, clay, and rock fragments. Geologists call bluestone a lithic sandstone or “greywacke.”

Dark brown to dark red sandstones and brownstones are a mix of quartz and feldspar and have iron oxide cement. Red sandstones are significant in geology because they formed at times when the atmosphere had abundant oxygen. These “red beds” are also an indicator that the rock formed on land or in very shallow water. Sediments in deeper water are not exposed to as much oxygen, so they tend to be dark grey or black.

Patterns in sandstone

The thing that attracted me to Wild Sea was the pattern made as sand grains were carried along by currents. This is called cross bedding and it’s one of the hallmarks of sandstone. Cross beds look like graceful, diagonal lines that have a gentle curve to them. You know how water flowing over sand leaves a rippled pattern? If you were to slice down into those ripples, you’d see cross beds. The swooping layers show the direction the water flowed.

Small cross beds are made by small stream channels. Giant cross beds are formed by sand dunes. Cross beds that flow one direction, then the opposite direction are caused by water that alternates flow direction—in other words, tides. Cross beds that look like lots of U-shaped patterns show that the water was flowing toward you rather than side to side.

Rainbow Teakwood sandstone. Photo courtesy of MSI.

Geologic minutia like cross bedding may seem superfluous. Ah, but no. Cross-bedding is a quick and reliable way to recognize sandstone. This is especially handy because sandstones are sometimes labeled as quartzite or granite. Being able to recognize this distinctive pattern will help you understand what type of stone you’re dealing with.

Some sandstones, like Rainbow Teakwood, have a woodgrain look that is similar to cross bedding. These patterns are caused by dissolved minerals carried in groundwater and they’re called Liesegang rings. You know how a red wine stain on your mother-in-law’s best white tablecloth leaves a distinct, red outline at the farthest reaches of the stain? The same thing happens with minerals too, only with a lot less guilt.

Sandstone evokes ancient landscapes

Think of all the places you encounter sand—on a beach, in a river, or across a desert. These are the same types of environments that brought us sandstones.

The thing we love about sedimentary rocks is how they offer a glimpse into former worlds. Even a billion years ago, beaches and sand dunes formed the same way they do today. We can use what’s happening around us now to infer what happened long ago. That’s one of the fundamental rules of geology.

Sand can be deposited in vast blankets, such as in the Sahara desert. The Navajo Sandstone that spans Utah, Arizona, and Colorado tell us this was a Sahara-like desert during the Cretaceous Period. Massive cross beds, like those seen on sandstone cliffs in Zion National Park, are the remnants of huge sand dunes that marched across the desert floor.

Rivers carry sand, too, with bluestone coming from sandy river channels and river deltas. On the banks of rivers, floods deposit alternating layers of sand and mud. As floodwaters recede, the sediment dries out, shrinks, and cracks into polygon shapes. That’s what made Stone Wood and Palomino. The sand developed a network of cracks, and then dark brown clay filled in the cracks and created a stark geometric pattern.

Beach sand tends to be more pure that river sand, because wave action winnows out everything but the quartz grains. White sandstones like White Sea are most likely from former coastlines. Today, pure white sand can be admired on the beaches near Pensacola, Florida. Someday, those beaches will make a gorgeous sandstone (maybe for my next kitchen?).

How does sand turn into solid rock?

Loose sand can become a super strong stone, or one that’s disappointingly crumbly. It’s all a matter of how well those sand grains are stuck together. Groundwater circulates between sand grains, carrying dissolved minerals along for the ride. Over time, minerals fill in the spaces between sand grains and glue everything together. Geologists call this mineral glue ‘cement.’ The cement can be iron oxide, silica, clay, or calcite. More importantly, the cement can fill in all the spaces between the sand grains, or only some of them. When a lot of those spaces are left open, you end up with a porous sandstone. Some, like Rainbow Teakwood, suck up water like a sponge. Others, like Wild Sea, have very little pore space because minerals have thoroughly filled the spaces between the sand grains, making a low-porosity stone that will repel water. In general, the older the sandstone and the more deeply it was buried, the less porous it will be.

Evaluating sandstones

Given this big disparity in sandstones, it’s important to match the right stone with the right use. For interior use, like countertops, bathrooms, backsplashes, or flooring, you want a low-porosity sandstone. Fortunately, testing the porosity couldn’t be simpler: pour or spray some water on an unsealed sample of the stone and watch what happens. If the water readily soaks into the stone, it’s not a good candidate for use where the stone will get wet. If water doesn’t visibly soak into the stone but it leaves a dark spot, then the stone has moderate porosity, and would be safe for most uses as long as sealer is applied regularly. And if the water neither soaks in nor leaves a dark area, you’ve got a tightly-cemented sandstone that will resist whatever your 4-year old can throw at it.

Quartzite is a former sandstone

Quartzite is all the rage right now. An unfortunate side effect of this wave of popularity is that some stones are being labeled as quartzite when they aren’t. This is most common with marbles that are labeled quartzite, but some sandstones are being called quartzite, too.

Quartzites start out as sandstone, and then they’re subjected to so much heat and pressure that the sand grains fuse together into one solid mass. Even if you look really close, you won’t see individual sand grains. This makes quartzite less porous than sandstone. That said, this process is not definitive. Some stones straddle the line between sandstone and quartzite. Usually this is recognizable by the patterns in the stone. If you can see cross beds, it’s either a sandstone or a quartzite that has only been subjected to a mild amount of heat and pressure. White Macaubus, Nuage, and Infinity White quartzites are examples of lightly metamorphosed quartzites, while White Sea ‘quartzite’ is actually a sandstone. So, regardless of the label, if a stone has cross bedding, check the porosity before falling deeply in love with it.

Many iconic buildings are made of sandstone

Sandstone on the Smithsonian Castle in Washington, DC.

Sandstone makes wonderful dimension stone, because it’s hard and impervious to the elements, yet it’s still relatively easy to cut, shape, and carve. That said, quartz-based sandstones and quartzites may require some additional fabrication costs due to additional time or tool wear, since the minerals are so hard. Sandstone buildings are commonplace all over the world, from Manhattan’s brownstones to Washington DC’s Smithsonian Institution to Jordan’s ancient Petra. The US is home to many productive sandstone quarries, such as the Potsdam sandstone in upstate New York, the Dakota sandstone in Colorado, and the Berea sandstone in Ohio.

The University of Wyoming in Laramie takes sandstone construction to a whole new level. They have their own sandstone quarry near campus, with a ready supply of dimension stone. Most of the campus buildings are made of this stone, tying together the campus and lending a native feel to the architecture.

Sandstone is versatile for landscaping

Sandstone has a special place in outdoor spaces. It’s easy to work with and it naturally cleaves into flat slabs for patios, stepping stones, and stone walls. The grainy texture offers grip in wet weather, and it’s manageable to work with as a DIYer. Local sandstones are readily available in most places, and each region has its own sandstone vernacular. In Arizona, red sandstone slabs are a proper fit. Sienna Buff, Sienna Grey, and Moss Rock all hail from southern Colorado. In the northeast, bluestone is right at home.

Here in Montana, I’ve become somewhat addicted to working with our native Frontier sandstone. Most years I buy a couple tons of it and have way too much fun building walls, borders, and pillars. My husband jokes that soon our entire property will be covered in sandstone. Like that’s a bad thing?

More from the Geology Series

Bluestone is not just blue

Bluestone is a fine-grained sandstone from Pennsylvania and New York, characterized by its grey-blue color—but it’s not always blue. “There are so many color variations,” explained Bill Mirch, Vice President of Tompkins Bluestone. “Light blue, grey, green, brown, lilac…” Mirch ticked down the list of colors expressed in bluestone. “There are a lot of nice choices.”

Ancient rivers gave birth to bluestone, and this sandstone is the result of a region-wide river system. As with all sedimentary rocks, the particulars of the stone reveal details about its formation. For example, the different colors tell us if the stone was exposed to oxygen during or after its formation. Orange, red, or brown colors are caused by an oxygen-rich environment. Green, turquoise, or blue tones are a result of oxygen-poor conditions, which can occur when decaying organic matter in the sediment uses up all of the available oxygen.

A variety of different ingredients make up bluestone: feldspar, quartz, mica, clays, and rock fragments. In geologic terms, this stone is called a greywacke (pronounced “gray whacky”), which is a sandstone made of a mixture of different particles. Furthermore, ‘greywacke’ is yet another example of how geology is rich with unusual/ridiculous vocabulary terms!

But this jumble of ingredients tells us something about bluestone. As sediments are transported farther from their source, they sort themselves out into similar minerals of similar sizes. But bluestone, being made of a diverse mix of ingredients, is made up of sediment that travelled a relatively short distance down a river. It also hints at the fact that all bluestones are not identical. The range in colors, layering, and texture is one of bluestone’s best assets.

Bluestones are the remnants of an ancient mountain range

Let’s do a little time travel back to the Devonian Period, nearly 400 million years ago. A mountain range, called the Acadian Mountains, was being uplifted along the east coast of North America. As a tectonic collision cranked the mountains upward, erosion sought to wear them back down. Rivers carved out valleys and carried away the sediment. At the foothills of the mountains, the rivers met an inland sea, the currents slowed, and the rivers laid down blankets of sand, gravel, and clay. More sediment piled on top of that, and the pressure from the overlying layers helped glue the particles together to create solid rock.

A huge range of rocks got deposited in this manner, and all together they are called the Catskill Delta Formation. This deposit is up to 10,000 feet thick, and covers parts of eastern Pennsylvania and southern New York. The Catskill Formation includes black shales, thick beds of coarse red sandstone, occasional limestones, and lenses of bluestone. The bluestones were formed from sandy deposits in river channels and river banks. Layers of shale and siltstone are usually found above and below the bluestone layers.

Bluestone was not laid down in a continuous blanket. Instead, rivers and deltas left behind pockets of sand. As rivers shifted across the landscape, the sandy layers did too. As a result, bluestones are found in small, discontinuous layers scattered throughout the region.

It’s amazing to think that the Acadian Mountains that shed their sediments to create the Catskill Formation no longer exist at all. They’ve been erased by erosion and overridden by the Appalachian Mountains, which formed in a similar way, about 50 million years after the Catskill Delta. The Appalachians, of course, are still with us today, but at some point they’ll lose the battle with erosion too, and will be worn away by restless rivers.

Geologic variability leads to a versatile stone

The geologic origins of bluestone conspired to create a particularly useful material. The sand grains of bluestone have been tightly cemented together, yielding a strong and durable stone. It has a consistent texture that can be left as-is, or can be worked into a variety of different finishes.

Bluestone’s natural layering allows the stone to be cleaved into agreeable flat shapes, and variations in the thickness of the natural layers provides a range of stone for different uses, from chunky blocks to thin sheets.

The way that bluestone was deposited in individual layers and pockets gave rise to small quarries scattered throughout eastern Pennsylvania and southern New York. The small scale of the operations favored close-knit crews working by hand rather than with heavy machinery. “Information was handed down from generation to generation,” explained Mirch. “It was a family thing.”

Because bluestone layers fade in and out across the landscape, quarrying it “is really an art,” said Mirch. In some places the sandstone beds are thick, which are useful for stair treads, curbing, and sills. Thinner layers are well-suited for paving or patio stone. Broad slabs are ideal for sidewalks. Because of the variability, “it’s harder to understand how to extract it,” offered John Malyshko, owner of Natural Stone Resources, Inc., but the upside is that, “different products come from different parts of the formation.”

“The precursor to concrete”

Bluestone has been a useful stone since the 1800s, when it began to be quarried for curbs, sidewalks, door sills, window sills, and paving stones. Much of the stone was shipped to nearby New York City, where “it was the precursor to the concrete sidewalk,” said Malyshko. “You can still see 200 year old bluestone steps and paving material.”

A spectacular example of early bluestone construction is the Starrucca Viaduct, a 1,000-foot long, stone railroad bridge in Lanesboro, PA. The viaduct was built of Ashlar bluestone in 1848, and was completed in only a year, thanks in part to the fact that the quarry was just 3 miles from the viaduct. If you had any doubts about the strength and durability of bluestone, take a look at that structure and appreciate that it’s still being used for commercial rail freight today.

Many uses for bluestone

Today, bluestone remains a popular choice and is one of the most abundant American natural stones. Patios, stair treads, stone walls, and pool coping are common uses of bluestone. In part, bluestone remains in demand because of its versatility. Daniel Wood, natural stone consultant for Lurvey Supply and chair of the Natural Stone Institute’s education committee, described the many facets of bluestone. “You can work it and craft it. You can have different sizes, different surface textures. It can be layered or not.”

The natural layers of bluestone can be “cleft,” or broken apart, yielding a naturally flat surface with just a hint of texture. In the early days of bluestone, its tendency to break along flat layers was part of its appeal.

But now, Mirch explained, diamond-blade saws have transformed the industry and ushered in myriad new uses for bluestone. No longer reliant on natural layers, stone cutters can saw the stone into specific sizes and thicknesses for architectural use, and mill it into thin tiles. “We’ve expanded our market to the [home’s] interior,” said Mirch.

Different finishes can mesh with different parts of a home. Bluestone can be tumbled to give it an antique look, it can be brushed or honed for smooth floor tile, or a ‘flamed’ finish can be applied, which leaves a planar surface with a slightly rough texture. Mirch summed up bluestone’s adaptability: “It goes from rustic to contemporary, very easily.”

Using the same stone in different ways can unite different parts of a project. “There’s a rhythm; a simplicity of materials,” said Wood. “It ties together into a cohesive design.”

Even bluestone’s leftovers are useful. Thinner layers can be made into tile, and crushed bluestone can be used as gravel. “There’s so many things you can do with it, or to it,” remarked Wood.

‘The industry is thriving’

Even though the bluestone industry is made up of small and medium-sized quarries, the stone has a huge reach. Demand for bluestone is highest in the northeast. “It fits the vernacular of the region,” Wood said.

But bluestone is shipped far and wide. “It’s very popular, nationwide,” explained Malyshko. “It’s like bread or butter. People know the material. It’s a safe choice.”

“The industry is thriving. The quarries are doing great,” observed Wood. “They can’t make it fast enough.”

Malyshko echoed this sentiment: “Every block that’s extracted is sold.” Mirch added, “We never have a surplus. Ever.”

For example, Tompkins bluestone supplies 6,000 to 8,000 square feet of bluestone sidewalks for historical neighborhoods in New York City every year. Mirch appreciates the continued use of traditional natural stone. “I really can’t get jazzed over a concrete sidewalk,” he quipped.

Furthermore, this American stone fosters American jobs, and not just in the quarry: “Trucking, machining, diamonds, blades…” Malyshko counted off the ways that bluestone stokes the local economy.

Perhaps bluestone is the quintessential American success story. A geologic remnant became a useful product, and small-scale quarrying fostered a bustling industry. Over time, quarriers, masons, and architects innovated new ways to use this old stone. And all the while, customers have flocked to it, keeping the industry vibrant and allowing the cycle to continue. Bluestone’s easygoing versatility shows us that sometimes the simplest ideas are the most durable.

Photos courtesy of Natural Stone Resources, Inc.

More from the Geology Series

Cobblestone & Sandstone Walkway and Fireplace Design Ideas

European cobblestones have withstood centuries of hoof beats and carriage wheels, and they’re still going strong.

The stones, set in place 100 to 400 years ago, once formed transportation networks, but have since been paved over with asphalt. When European construction workers build a new avenue or install a sewer line, they invariably dig up old cobbles.

Durable Beauty

Photo by Monarch Stone International – Discover living room design inspiration

Reclaimed cobblestones can be used to make beautiful and exceptionally hardy driveways and garden walkways to complement modern French Country, Spanish Colonial, and Tuscan-style homes.

“This type of driveway lasts forever,” said Anthony Van Liefde, who worked as a stone mason for over 40 years and now travels to Italy, France, and other parts of Europe to collect cobblestones for Monarch Stone International in San Clemente, which he owns along with Lisa Van Liefde. If it’s installed properly, a cobblestone drive will last hundreds of years.

Cobblestones have a unique beauty. Some are granite, ranging in color from dark gray to gray-green or gray-blue. Others are sandstone, which oxidizes to form a warm, earth-toned patina. Sandstone cobbles have a flatter surface, and are sometimes used as flooring for rustic interiors or wine cellars.

Traditionally, cobblestones were set in sand, with their narrower ends firmly entrenched at the base and their wider tops nearly touching, with just a little sand between them. No mortar was used. Many people still install them the traditional way, though others attach them to a concrete base and grout the joints with mortar.

Either way, no maintenance is necessary. “People ask if they should seal them, but there’s no need,” Lisa said. “They’ve already been tested in freezing weather for hundreds of years.”

Architects and landscape designers appreciate cobblestones for their visual versatility. Not only is there a wide color palette, but the stones were made in a variety of square and rectangular shapes, ranging in size from three to seven inches long, with a normal height of five or six inches (if set in concrete, they can be sawn a couple of inches shorter). Old curb stones are more massive, from 16 to 18 inches high, with varying lengths.

Cobblestones were used not only in Europe, but in early America, where they were originally brought over on ships as ballast, and later were sourced locally. Because most American roads were built using macadam, tarmac, or asphalt, it is easier to find the stones in Europe.

Traditional Building with Local Stone

Photo by Monarch Stone International – Look for landscape pictures

While using European cobblestone conjures up images of the liveried coachmen and gilded carriages of a distant era, using local stone provides a link to a geological history closer to home.

For Anthony, the local stone of choice is Santa Barbara sandstone, which he fell in love with as a young man when he vacationed in the area. Though these stones are not reclaimed, the material has an illustrious past—it was used to build the Santa Barbara Mission and many other historic buildings in the area.

Like cobblestone, Santa Barbara sandstone is not quarried, but excavated—in this case, from building sites, where boulders that tumbled from the surrounding Santa Ynez mountains centuries ago lie nestled in the soil.

“In the old days, they cleared the land and used what God left there to build. Here, that’s still true,” Lisa said. Masonry crews excavate the boulders, hand-split them, and shape them into blocks using hammers and chisels, just as they did 200 years ago. “It’s an art you don’t often see today,” Lisa said.

The rocks range in color from cream to yellow and golden brown. The most popular shade is called Montecito Gold. Builders like the chisel-friendly material, which is used not only for building facades, but for carvings, veneers, stair treads, wall caps, and windowsills. “It’s made in heaven for stone cutters,” Anthony said. Some builders plane the stone for a smooth surface, while others prefer to preserve its rough-hewn edges.

Area architects seek out the stone in part because it’s sourced locally, which means it’s readily available and gets delivered faster. Using local stone also gives them points towards LEED certification.

Reclaimed cobblestones and locally-sourced stone put homeowners in touch with materials and building methods of the past. In a world filled with asphalt and concrete, they are a visual and tactile reminder of earlier days, when we were more closely connected to the earth.

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