Rocks and Their PLACES

                  I don’t know when it began.  It just did.  Suddenly I was seeing rocks and finding them ever so interesting.  Sometimes it was the color that caught my attention.  Sometimes it was the shape that made me pick it up and remove it from its ‘place’.    Whether I kept the rock usually depended upon how it felt nestled in my hand.  It was this tactile experience that issued the invitation for a rock to join my beloved ‘rock family’. (I simply cannot call it a ‘rock collection’ for that sounds so heartless – implying they are acquisitions intended to grow in number without discretion which is not the case.)

          Rocks decorate our home . . . on window ledges, in pottery bowls, in baskets and plants . . . fortunately my husband appreciates rocks as well.  On our recent trip to England – independent of the other – we were both picking up rocks from our land of lineage to bring back with us.  In Dover I requested three hours to savor and sense the rocks beneath my feet as I ‘walked the rocks’ along the beach.  My eyes were glued to the textures and shapes that tantalized - then touching – holding them in my hands – rubbing them between my fingers.  Each taught me something about my homeland – about me.  The Dover stones – so unusual because of the chalky cliffs and the English Channel – still felt familiar.  A reminder of a place deeply known in my bones.

          On one English ramble in the Cotswolds, we picked up what is known as a Cotswold stone – a beautiful butterscotch color found in so many of the buildings and homes in that part of the country. It feels like a worker stone – rough and angular - one that is intended to be part of a community to create a place, a structure. It’s not a stone you quickly notice by itself, but corporately - in the finished product. Just seeing it takes us back there. 

          Our trip to the Pacific Ocean last summer found us fascinated by rocks that were round and smooth and flat.  Again, I spent hours walking the rugged coastline.   My ‘family’ started growing and I began stacking them one on top of the other.  I remembered the importance of ‘stacked stones’ to the Intuits living in the frozen tundra.  Called INUKSUK’s, the stacked stones were a means of communication – letting others know the way to find shelter or food in a land of snow and ice.  What were my stacked stones communicating?   Was there more than just my awe of such simple beauty?  Why do I have altars of stones throughout my home?  Why do I find rocks so captivating?

          On the southern edge of Lake Superior we came upon a small bay that gifted us with a unique rock called a 'concretion' - the word coming from the Latin con, meaning 'together', and cresco, meaning 'to grow'. According to the Wisconsin Geological Survey, these grown-together rocks began forming about 20,000 years ago in Lake Superior.  Concretions remain something of a mystery to geologists, who believe they formed when minerals crystallized around a decaying plant or fish bone.  Water pressure and wind erosion helped create their interesting

shapes. 

          To describe a concretion is somewhat difficult as they vary, but each one looks rather odd and interesting – reminding one of ‘something’ else.  One might look like a crescent roll while another is very flat and resembles ripples in a lake. To the Native Americans in this part of the country, concretions are deeply respected for the wisdom and uniqueness they are believed to hold.  They are called ‘spirit stones’ or ‘grandfather rocks’ with each rock holding a special spirit and message gifted to the one who finds it.

          So perhaps my yearning and fascination around rocks and stones is to find the spirit within.  Each holds the mysteries of how it was formed, why it landed in a certain place, and now, that it allows itself to be found by me.  When daughter, Kate, left for college – I searched for a rock that perfectly fit into the palm of my hand and gave it to her with these words:  “If you need me for any reason, just wrap your fingers around this stone and know I am with you.”  A ‘spirit stone’ for sure, infused with a mother’s love.  

          To each of my stones, rocks and pebbles now living in a new place – far away from where I found you  . . . thank you for gifting me reminders of the places you once lived, of the ‘spirit of place’ within you!