Here was an interesting recent project; moving a 1200-pound hunk of basalt about six feet, and erecting it upright - by hand, and by myself.

The massive stone had a round bottom, complicating its eventual vertical stability.

It was also expensive; any amount of stone I buried to render it stable was likely to be worth at least a few hundred dollars.

My solution: cast concrete "boots," generically conforming to the average roundness of the bottom. Three of them would enable nice stability. Using a plywood sled (a pair of them, eventually), two ratcheting hoists (come-alongs), a bottle jack, many blocks of wood, a pier block and other concrete blocks, and a steel bar, I was able to engineer a stone that weighed over six times my own weight into position: moved six feet, flipped end for end and rolled over, and lifted upright.

Notice the penultimate photo; even the small size will show that the basin of water has the same margin: the stone is ideally level and plumb (and I used no levels or other artifice - merely by eye, and mostly, the feel of it).

I even set up my little tripod and got a snap of myself, sitting pensively contemplating the next challenge of orienting my simple machines to get them to do my bidding and relocate the stone.

I had many opportunities, toward the end of it, to breathe my mantra when I am engaged in such an apparent folly: "I'm smart, and I'm strong, and I don't give up."

When the task is completed, I tell the object of it - in this case, the stone, "You see? This is no business for quitters."

If you look closely at the pictures of my progress, you'll note where I roll it to its final side, and then suddenly, it's turned around.
I seem to have neglected to snap any of the sequence of pivoting the thing around - that was why I needed a new sled, with holes for hooking a chain on both ends. This way, using the redwood as an anchor, I could attach to any corner with my beefy ratchet-hoist and chain, and slowly rotate the thing, and even orient it closer to the final position and set it up for the next force majeur.

I had imagined that I would mark my ideal final grade with rebar and mason string, but I never applied any artifice or device for positioning the stone. Generally, I work out all the math in advance and while on task, but the client prefers I keep the use of rulers and levels to a minimum, so I went with the feel of it.

While engaged in moving the stone, I was also hustling around with sprinklers, as I was also looking after the client's extensive gardens while she was away for a week - hence the timing with the stone-moving disruption at the entry to her home.

Not only that, but using a machine wasn't an option, as the stone was too delicate - a lovely rind of lichen, and sharp, brittle edges; it also would have torn up the landscape, and cost more, to boot.

And yet, the client had suggested, when I was introduced to the stone and had said, "I have no idea how I'll move it," that I might hire a couple of strong young fellows who work for a local stone-handler.

Not me, though - in fact, throwing muscle at a job is usually the last resort; the last thing I consider. I declare that I am a lazy fellow, although willing to confess that I might be an industrious one, but nobly lazy, in that you give your toughest job to your laziest fellow, and they'll find the easiest way to do it.

I'm fond of saying, "Let me tie a piece of line onto the job and I'll make it easier." I was brought up as a crack sailor, and fancy myself as a highly-adept rigger; another job I had for the same client involved replacing a foot-diameter post, but putting the new one on a four-foot column; raising that post by myself, and budging it into tight tolerances, wasn't easy, but with my Band of Simple Machines, I made it look easy.

Moving that stone into position was challenging and strenuous, but my twisted spine was never in peril, as I was making such excellent use of my force. Still, there is a protocol of safety beyond that: you never put your hands under the stone - if you're inserting, or more tricky, removing a brace, you knock it out with a handy piece of wood (you keep plenty around). And it's like apprending a highly-dangerous criminal - while your partner covers him with his firearm and you move in to disarm the suspect, you don't get between you and your partner's gun. In the same way, you watch out for the stone when it's hoisted a few inches on the jack but is not yet braced, and you walk around the anchor rather than stepping over your cable, and you just try to keep it all safe.

As I was hoisting the stone to vertical, I also had it attached to the tree with the ratchet, so I could keep it from tipping the wrong way as it went up. When I approached the stone, I was always on the side away from the cable, in the direction it could not fall .

When it was vertical - an oddly anticlimactic moment - I filled in around it with crushed rock. You'll note that I had set it, as well as my concrete boots, on large, crushed ballast rock, well-tamped in by walking on it (not hopping - bad on the knees, and it's the vibration that settles it, not the impact). Once the stone was on the three feet, I could finally budge it without aid - rock it a half-inch off the axis - so now, the finer crushed rock came in.

I had procured about a quarter ton of various sizes of crushed rock from a local stone yard. I thought I might need large stuff, and one-inch or so, and half-inch, and really fine stuff. I could screen whatever I bought, if necessary (as I did, screening out sand from my finest rock).

I stopped at the stone yard office, and explained my need for small amounts of various sizes of stone. I told the young woman that I was passing the cost on to the customer, so they could just bill me the highest rate of the stone that I bought (they load by volume, but sell by weight, sending you over a tare scale coming and going).

She was confused. I told her I had buckets to put the various sizes in, and was going to load them with my own shovel. "Oh," she said, "It's two dollars a bucket."
But some of the stuff was going in a large zinc tub.
"What if I don't put it in a bucket, though?" I asked, and that really confused her.

I finally got her to just decide to charge me for 3/8" crushed stone, and off I went, and promptly loaded up. The fellow in the yard zoomed up through the dust in his tractor, but easily accepted my task and zoomed away, not bothered to be confused or concerned in the slightest.

When I paid, I realized the poor dear had billed me for 2-6" ballast - the coarsest grade of stone I had loaded - and it only came to a few bucks.

Once the stone was vertical, but not perfectly stable, I began filling in with the sand I had sifted, and with gradually-increasing sizes of crushed stone. I watered them in, and tamped a piece of cedar on the accumulated stone with a mallet. Soon, the stone was erect and highly stable. It sat out of the ground as high as possible (and was ideally placed vis-a-vis the grade). I restored the landscape around it, even replacing the screening stones on the drain I had discovered. In the near future, I'll get the scheme from the client about how she wants me to deal with the immediate surroundings of the stone, but for now, it's done.

Total time spent on the job, including pondering the task, and running for materials: 24 hours, or around a thousand dollars. And neither the stone, or anything else, was damaged in the slightest.