The Mason’s Mark:

The older the brick, the deeper the story it tells.

My granddad, bless his calloused hands, always said that. He was a mason, a true artist with mortar and stone. I remember one sweltering summer, probably ’68, watching him rebuild a crumbling garden wall for old Mrs. Snodgrass. Each brick he carefully chipped free, cleaned, and then reset with a gentle tap of his trowel.

I was maybe ten, impatient as only a ten-year-old can be. “Granddad, why don’t you just use new bricks? It’d be faster.”

He paused, wiping sweat from his brow with a dusty sleeve. He held up a half-brick, worn smooth on one side, rough on the other. “See this, son? This brick has held up against a hundred winters. It’s seen Mrs. Henderson’s roses bloom and fade, her grandkids grow tall. It’s got character. A new brick… it’s just a brick. But this one? This one’s earned its place.”

He then pointed to a particularly gnarled rose bush climbing the wall. “And sometimes,” he winked, “the best way to let new things grow is to give the old ones a strong foundation. You don’t tear down history; you learn from it, mend it, and make it stronger for what’s next.”

It took him weeks to finish that wall, brick by deliberate brick. And when he was done, it wasn’t just a wall; it was a testament. It stood straighter, looked more dignified than any new construction could have. It whispered tales of time, of endurance, and of a quiet strength.

Life’s a lot like that garden wall. We gather our experiences, our joys, our heartaches—each one a brick in our own structure. Sometimes, we want to tear it all down, start fresh with shiny, new intentions. But the true strength, the real character, comes from recognizing the value in what we’ve already built, even the parts that have crumbled a bit. It’s in the mending, the resetting, the integrating of our past selves into who we are becoming. It’s in respecting the foundation that got us here.

The deepest growth often comes not from discarding our past, but from thoughtfully restoring it, allowing its weathered wisdom to support the new blooms of tomorrow.

— Bruce Eickelman | 12X Studio