Anyone who has been in my kitchen and viewed, most likely in peripheral vision, the rocks lining the windowsill above our sink, or who has meandered into the depths of the basement and noticed the stones chunking up the gas fireplace mantel, is likely to guess my infinity, passion, and somewhat peculiar perhaps habit of bringing rocks from wherever I have traveled.
When I backpacked through Eastern Europe long ago - 6 weeks with a fellow teacher friend, after my first year of actually making money in the profession, he laughed continually at my penchant for eyeing up, and then tucking into backpack pockets, stones of various shades and sizes. "No wonder your pack is so heavy," he would sigh as though I was the most obscure individual he had ever met (and yet still he kindly, and gentleman-like, helped out whenever an attempt to squeeze my MEC hunchback through some skinny spot seemed impossible).
A stonemason living near Holstein who frequents the store whenever in need of conversation to go with his refreshment, deduces that humans have such almost-obsessive kinship (see, it's not just me!) with rocks because we are made up of the same trace minerals.
So, alas, the mystery of my "rockbed" in the front yard has been solved!? I need merely to lie down on top of them, rub my face amongst their crag-gy spots and feel at home...
While Rebekah napped (now an infrequent practice that seems only to occur when a vehicle and hot weather is involved), Gavin and I created the front step design below (thanks to mom and dad's woodpile, an old washtub once belonging to Jeff's great aunt, and hostas salvaged from the rental). Our front yard garden will have a forest-y theme, so I wanted something to fit in. As we were almost done, and placing stones beside the old washtub, Gavin introspectively eyed up our creation, looked over at me, back at the tub, and exuberantly said, "you know, Mom, it's not quite right...we need one more stone!" (the one on the far right). Ah, his mother's child!
