These are my rocks, the ones I have left. When I was a little girl we lived in an island community with dirt roads. I collected boxes and boxes of treasured rocks. I loved their shape and density. The way they changed color when they were wet was magical to me. Actually, I only had one box, but whenever it filled up, my mother would tell me that it was time to go pave the road. I had to take all but my most favorite rocks back outside and fill in the large mud puddle just outside our gate. Then I could begin the process of filling up my box again. I filled it up at least once a month.
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When we moved to the city, I could not take my rocks along. I had to choose just a few. I still have those. The fourth big rock from the left in the picture is one of those rocks I found in that tropical home. It is a conglomerate, I think. It has green pebbles embedded inside it. I couldn't let that one go.
I did not find the first two rocks. The very first one was a crystal that was on display at a fair. It reminded me of the glass mountain I had heard about in a fairy tale. I raved about its beauty, and the boy who had found it gave it to me. It became my treasure that night.
My first beau, Sid, gave me the second rock. Knowing that I had a sweet spot for shiny rocks, he smeared the flat side of that brown beauty that he had found with Vicks Vaporub and polished it to a shine. It was a gift of young love.
I don't remember the name of the guy who gave me the geode in the center. He was the boyfriend of a college roommate. He gave me the rock because he knew I loved crystals. Wait, I think his name was Mark.
The rocks on the extreme right are souvenirs from my travels. The one in the back was found beside the Dead Sea on a family trip to the Holy Land in 1976. It took the longest time for it to dry out completely.
The rock in front of that one is a piece of granite gravel that I picked up from the DMZ in Korea when I was there in 2001. Did you know people stack rocks there as a prayer? This one was not stacked.
The rest of my collection are bits of lava from Africa and Costa Rica. My husband and I went to Costa Rica for a couple of months to study Spanish. We spent the night in a fancy hotel on the side of an active volcano. That is my idea of an adventure. The lava from Africa was a gift from the father of a former student. I have never been to Africa.
11 comments:
Your box of rocks is like a special writer's notebook: each rock a seed idea - a story waiting to be told. Your writing has gotten me thinking about other collections I know and the stories they tell. Thank you for sharing this slice.
There is something so honest and pure about a rock. They tell a story and yours kind of becomes intertwined with it like the one with gems in it. They're just cool!
Wow, what a collection of stories tied to rocks. The problem with rocks as souvenirs is they are so heavy (when you get several). I love seeing your rocks!
The rocks truly are a treasure. Each has significance to you. Don't you wonder how old they are and others that may have noticed them and passed them by?
It sounds like these rocks hold a million stories. Isn't it funny how stories are captured and held in the objects around us. I loved your story of collecting rocks when you were young. Seems that each stone connects you to the past.
Thanks for sharing,
Cathy
I like rocks too and even had to mail some home from Alaska when we moved back to the lower 48. I was actually a little horrified when you said you had to "go pave the road." :-) Love how each is a connection to the past for you. Thanks for sharing.
What an interesting collection. As Anne said, it's like a visual writer 's notebook. I love that the memories they suggest are as fresh as ever...that each has a very particular association for you.
Ah, another rock collector. Rocks are so simple but yet so fascinating. At least you remember where you got them. I have my rocks, but don't remember where I got most of them. Rock on.
I, too, love rocks. You provided a lovely trip down memory lane...I was particularly touched by the image of you reducing your rock collection when you moved - I can't imagine what that must have felt like!
There needs to be room in all our lives for sacred objects that trigger sense memory. Thoughtful writing that gives a reader plenty of room to connect!
I caught this post late, but your words reminded me about all the rocks that I collected when walking with my mother as a young girl. I still have a few of them.
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