Last winter, I walked the old farm track above Skagafjörður with a notebook in one pocket and a handful of local turf in the other. The wall was not a surface to preserve; it was a layer still at work.
A wall is a calendar
Each course records a decision: basalt where the ground turns wet, driftwood where a beam must span, peat where warmth needs holding. By spring, the roof will be green again, and the house will have changed without losing its shape.