Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.
—Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī
The continental core of North America drifted into existence more than 1.5 billion years ago. Known as Laurentia, this core grew with the large volumes of volcanic material and ocean sediment that were forced ashore by the incoming Avalonian Islands.
As these islands finally pushed onto the coast themselves, roughly 450 million years ago, they dragged a swath of sea bed materials onto the land, bending, compressing, lifting, and pushing existing rock formations.
Late Devonian Period: Avalonian Terrane meets Laurentia. Image by Colorado Plateau Geosystems, Inc.
Rockport, Massachusetts, found at coordinates 42° 41' 20.32" N70° 37' 56.73" W, is part of that Avalonian terrane and is the site of the now defunct Babson Farm Quarry. Avalonian granite, a rock formed by volcanic processes, was quarried from this site between 1840-1929. This stone, formed in part by the intense internal heat of our planet, was used in important buildings, monuments, and other pieces of infrastructure and to pave many New England streets. We walk unaware, for the most part, on a thin skin of cold stone, a direct connection to the internal forces that formed our planet and create the circumstances that allow for life. The quarry grew when it was acquired by the Rockport Granite Company, an operation that shipped stone internationally and to form the Brooklyn Bridge and the base of the Statue of Liberty, but it eventually ceased operation when the construction industry began to rely on concrete and asphalt for economic reasons, and stone lost its market share.
In 1934, a 17-acre parcel of the quarry was purchased by Dr. John C. Phillips and Rockport residents, an organization known as Trustees of Reservations. The Trustees created a park, called Halibut Point Reservation. It’s so named not because there are many halibut there, rather because the area was called “Haul-about” Point, because the strong unpredictable winds would demand that sailors “haul-about” their sails.
During WWII, more US ships were lost off the coast of Boston than were lost during the attack at Pearl Harbor. German U-boat attacks were common, and the government constructed a series of concrete lookout towers to survey the coastline. A 60-foot tower with horizontal slit windows was constructed at the defunct quarry to defend Boston. It was designed to resemble a fire-control tower so as not to become a target. It still stands and houses a small museum and visitors center with exhibits that explain the quarry processes.
In 1981, the state of Massachusetts purchased 56 acres at the quarry and created Halibut State Park.
The park offers trails that lead to expansive ocean views, places where people can come close to nature. It is a rich spot for bird watching. A low rocky shelf covered in bayberry, greenbriar and shadbush is constantly windblown. Tides crash incessantly upon the shore. Tidal pools form where sea creatures find safe havens. And the defunct quarry stands in great contrast, a sublime scar reminding of humanity’s attempt to systematically dominate and exploit natural resources. Today, the quarry is a gaping hole, filled with water, with a maximum depth of about 60 feet at its lowest spot, fed by natural underground springs. It freezes in the winter.
About 15 years ago, while I was a graduate student in landscape architecture at the Rhode Island School of Design, Halibut Point was the site for a project of mine. The project concept developed during the process of drawing two found objects: the winter bud on the stem of a shadbush and a plug/feather, a two-part tool used to split stone.
As the flower is a connection of earth to sky, and as the tool splits the earth’s surface, my design created a connection from the earth to the sky while allowing people to get a sense of the earth’s internal heat.
A small structure built of gabions—wire baskets filled with the local granite—is sited along the rocky shore. The visitor passes by a freestanding gabion wall and enters a three-part experience: open deck, sky frame, and heated box.
The deck wraps around and merges with the rocky ledge. A glass wall creates a wind screen. At high tide on a full moon, a person sitting on the outer edge of the deck could hang her legs out into the rising tide while sitting comfortably dry. Her body becomes a gauge for the tide.
The gabions are stacked to form a hallway around the deck and a ceiling overhead. The ceiling does not fully cover the deck in this hallway; an area remains open to the sky, allowing light to penetrate through the structure.
The hallway leads to a door. Inside, the gabion shell is lined with cedar. In the center is a fire-element. In essence, this room is a sauna. The space is activated only by the presence of a person. The fire is vented through the ceiling. A slit window, reminiscent of the windows on the watchtower, reveals a view to the pure horizon, where the earth and sky meet. An element once needed for defense during wartime now connects people to the environment. A place once exploited is now a place where people might become more attuned to the forces that create life and might understand more profoundly their integral connection. The stone that was once dispersed widely is now gathered on site and reassembled into a shelter. People are given the opportunity to understand the integral part they play in a system.
This project remains undeveloped at this time.