In the town where I’m from there are all varieties of stone, but only one variety that matters. You call it Flagstone and I call it Lannon Stone and in that, we’re both right. An old man on the corner of where I once lived called it Dolomite, and while he was right, he wasn’t actually right. Of this particular stone there are two kinds. One is the newer stone with sharp edges and rough surfaces. The thin stones are split along horizontal fault lines, creating a modestly uniform product that works well for all sorts of construction. But in Lake Geneva we use the stones for paths, and if it’s a path, then it would have to be the shore path because here no other paths matter. There’s no rule that says your shore path has to be stone, and no further rule that says it must be Lannon Stone, but maybe there should be. The newer type of Lannon Stone is still old, of course, but the crags and edges and splits are rough and sharp and new. I prefer the older stone that had been once positioned carefully and remained in place for generations. These stones are smoothed and pocked from the wet feet of the lake swimmers and from the rubber soles of the shore path walkers. From the paws of the leashed dogs and the little feet of the lakefront squirrels. We might have more than one type of stone, but when you’re barefoot after a swim and you walk from your pier to your lawn, wouldn’t you rather walk over the old stone, stained from the mulberries and smoothed from the rain? I would.
