On the Rocks

My life can be measured in rocks. I have rocks all over my house- both inside and out. I not talking about the everyday rocks that you dig up in your yard. I'm taking about rocks that have been collected over the years, both bought and found.

For example, there’s a rock out in the garden that came from a family vacation in Maine, probably about fifty years or so ago. It’s a nice looking rock, mostly because it's smooth all around. It's not something that necessarily catches your eye. It's pretty but not flashy. Some people notice it, but most people don’t.

When I look at this rock, I remember standing in the water with my family and my Aunti Anna, collecting a bunch of these smooth rocks to bring home. I also think about the cabins we stayed in, way back then, and I think about some of the other places we all went together. Maybe some of those places were on that very same trip, maybe not.

I think of this rock, sitting in my garden, far away from it’s original home. And I think about how far this rock has traveled over the years- first, from Maine to the home I grew up in, and then, after they moved, to Mom and Dad's other homes. Eventually, it found a home in my garden, where it is today.

While many of these gathered rocks sit outside, most of the rocks, at least the ones that I’m thinking of, are inside my house. Some of the larger rocks are ones that I bought many years ago at an indoor flea market.

The flea market ran all year long, on Sundays, inside a first dying, then finally dead, mall. We went to this flea market almost every Sunday with Mom and Dad and my sister, Sandy. By the time Helaina was born, we continued to go- at least for a while.

I would carry Helaina around in one of those carriers on my back. And I remember there was an older couple there that sold rocks and minerals. And each week, I would look through their collection- often buying one or two of their rocks.

After the flea market, there was the ride back to the apartment, where we would get a bite to eat. Helaina would go down for a nap, and while she was sleeping, the rest of us would show off our newfound treasures.

A year or so later, this pattern continued, now with Rachael along as well. I would walk through the crowded flea market halls, carrying Rachael in front of me, while Helaina rode on my back. Over time, for whatever reason, we cut back on going quite so often. But I still have the rocks that I bought there.

Some of these rocks sit on a shelf in my hall. They sit along side of other rocks collected over the years- a geode that I bought in Rockport with Dad- when I was in junior high, and rocks from gem shows I went to with my kids.

All of those rocks are unique. Some of them have bright colors while some are less flashy. Sometimes people notice them and comment on them. When I look at them, I see more than their colors.

A few of the rocks from my sock drawer.

A lot of my indoor rocks are smaller and less flashy than the flea market rocks. Some are tucked away in my sock drawer or in various bowls that sit on my shelves.

These rocks come from places like my driveway or parking lots or along dirt paths. There’s a mixture of these rocks. Some have little spots of mica in them that reflect when you hold them in the sun. A couple of them are quartz, and although they’re rough, you'll see that there's a luster to them, if you take the time to notice.

A "meat eater" from Helaina dated, 7/94.

And that’s kind of the thing about these kinds of rocks. There isn’t an obvious beauty to them. You have to look closely. These would not catch the eye of most adults. To notice these kinds of rocks, I think you need to be a little kid- because little kids look at the world differently than adults do.

Adults go wherever it is they’re going, but little kids will enjoy the journey. They'll look up at the clouds in the sky and the leaves on the trees, and they’ll  look down and see the toads and insects hidden along their path. And they'll discover rocks beneath their feet and they'll see something special in them. And if you're lucky, they'll share these special rocks with you.

When the kids were a little older, sometimes we would drive to a spot along a nearby river, and we would park and explore the riverbank. Mostly though, we would just throw rocks into the water- seeing how far we could throw them and listing to the "plunk" sound they made when they hit the water. After a while, we would leave the river and we would spend the afternoon driving around, looking for another adventure. Mostly though, we would talk about how much fun we just had.

I have several jars of polished rocks around the house. These are beach rocks that were carefully selected over several years worth of vacations. A few years ago, I bought a rock tumbler and Sam and I started polishing these rocks. There was something almost magical about transforming these rocks. They were already smooth and pretty. But after polishing them, their colors had more depth and they looked wet, just like when we first found them on the shore.

Many years ago, Jake and I started going to an annual rock and mineral show. Back then, it was held at the local high school. Over the years, going to this became something of a tradition. We would always come away with a treasure or two or more. Most of these rocks are now in Jake's collection but there's a couple of them sitting on that same hallway self that hods some of mine.

As Jake got older, and his other commitments became more frequent, it got harder and harder for him to make it to these rock and mineral shows. I still went to these shows, alone, but the rocks didn't seem as interesting. I still go every year, sometimes alone, sometimes with one of the kids, if they happen to be around.

There are many more rocks around the house, holding many more memories than just the few I've mentioned. And this is one of my big problems. It's not just these rocks. I see memories in so many of the things I hang onto- old ticket stubs, little scraps of art, even some threads from when Sam used to used to pull at his socks in bed at night. Each one of these things is like a bookmark from a specific place and a specific moment in my life. And all of them are from a time I shared with someone else.