finding joy in the bedrock, day 3: between a rock and a

For more information about extracting joy - read here.

I have a lot of rocks. I found a bunch of them recently sitting in a box underneath my studio work table, and I spent a good long while reminiscing about the events they mark.


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Capital Hill was my first Seattle neighborhood. It was outlandish. It was bustling. It was colorful. It was loud. And it was weird.

Even at 9pm on Friday night in the Safeway grocery store. Maybe especially at 9pm on Friday night in the Safeway grocery store.

It was in the early weeks of living and working here, when I had only a few friends and even less to do on a Friday night. So I went grocery shopping.

While I was busy strolling through the produce an older man came up to me. He asked me if I'd ever seen a fossil. This is when an informed and city-wise girl would not pass Go and would not collect $200 - and would proceed directly to security. But what did I do? I backed up a little, looked around to see if anyone else was around (a few others)-- and I mumbled something like, "Um, yes. I'm really not interested. Thanks." But the guy walked over to my cart and put a large black rock inside. A rock about the size of a grapefruit. "No worries. I'm giving it to you. There's a fossil inside."

And there was. The imprint of a large fern frond, sandwiched between the two pieces of rock.

I've kept it ever since.


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I have rocks from beaches I've visited, the mountains, Oban castle in Scotland, my honeymoon. I've picked them up because of their shape--- round, oblong, flat. Or sometimes their color would catch my eye--- deep maroon, blue-gray, stark white, a lovely sea glass green. Rocks with deep pock marks, smooth rocks, one with a thick white stripe running through it.

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Bean has recently started collecting rocks. When she says the word, it comes out ROKXXX, lots of spittle, lots of emphasis on the X.

She gathers them in her dimpled hands, rolls their rough surfaces over her cheek. I stop myself from telling her they're dirty. I understand the harvest is a tactile experience.

Her small collection lives on our front walkway, piled together by our planters. I've tried to move some of the less desireable ones (read: items covered in mysterious substances) out of her reach, but she catches me every time. Wants to keep each one. After she grabs them from my hand, she'll hold each one individually, like she's memorizing their shape and texture. She can't tell me yet why these little stones are so important, but I'll hazard a guess: each one stands for an effort she's made--- a long teetering venture into our neighbor's yard, or the arduous trek back from the mailbox. They stand as sentinals for time spent and a trophy gained. Very much like the rocks I've kept. Who am I to tell her an adventure into the backyard, a grunting reach under the neighbor's fence, isn't as important as a trip to Scotland or an eccentric guy at a supermarket?

There is joy to be found in rocks and stones, the things we keep from our adventures in the great beyond, no matter the shape or size.

What kinds of things do you gather on your adventures? Postcards or bits of earth or pictures taken on a fancy camera? I collect cat whiskers, so nothing you say is going to surprise or shock me.

If you're playing along today, let me know and I'll link you up - or if you're not blogging, but you'd like to share anyway, tell us what's giving you some joy.

For their part, these lovely bloggers are digging digging digging, and finding it...

Eight Twenty Eight

bethsix

One Day at a Time

City Mouse Country

Four Molnars