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*nostalgia*
Dec. 4th, 2008 11:47 amI used to collect rocks when I was a kid. I grew up on a farm, out in BFE, and everyday I walked a quarter of a mile on a gravel road to the school bus stop, and then back again when I went home. And as I walked, I would pick up and pocket any pretty rocks I saw. Lots of agates made it home with me. :) The beach was the same. Pretty shells, pretty stones, they all went into the box under my bed.
When I visited my grandparents' house, I walked their field and road looking for stones. I remember when I found my first fool's gold (pyrite) and my grandfather explained to me it wasn't real gold, but I still thought it was pretty enough to be.
When I was, oh, ten, I guess, my family went on vacation over in Eastern Oregon, and one of our stops was the Obsidian Flow in Deschutes National Forest. They had signs up warning people not to take anything, but my Dad helped me slip some nice smaller specimens into my pockets, and somewhere I still have the hunk of pumice we not-so-sneakily took, much to my mother's aggravation.
One of my Uncles gave me a piece of amethyst geode, and and it was my most treasured possession all through grade school, my lucky rock that I was sure had real magic somewhere within the cluster of purple peaks and spears.
Somewhere along the way, I outgrew my rock collection. I got into horses and then writing, and I didn't pick up anymore rocks, and at some point in my teenage years, threw my collection away as it was just "a box of junk" I was then "too old" for.
I don't know why I was thinking about this today. I saw an amethyst slice in someone's Etsy store I covet, and it was this gorgeous stone with all these spears of purple that brought to mind that amethyst geode. And then I remembered that early fascination with stones, and why it is I prefer real stones to glass in my jewelry.
When I visited my grandparents' house, I walked their field and road looking for stones. I remember when I found my first fool's gold (pyrite) and my grandfather explained to me it wasn't real gold, but I still thought it was pretty enough to be.
When I was, oh, ten, I guess, my family went on vacation over in Eastern Oregon, and one of our stops was the Obsidian Flow in Deschutes National Forest. They had signs up warning people not to take anything, but my Dad helped me slip some nice smaller specimens into my pockets, and somewhere I still have the hunk of pumice we not-so-sneakily took, much to my mother's aggravation.
One of my Uncles gave me a piece of amethyst geode, and and it was my most treasured possession all through grade school, my lucky rock that I was sure had real magic somewhere within the cluster of purple peaks and spears.
Somewhere along the way, I outgrew my rock collection. I got into horses and then writing, and I didn't pick up anymore rocks, and at some point in my teenage years, threw my collection away as it was just "a box of junk" I was then "too old" for.
I don't know why I was thinking about this today. I saw an amethyst slice in someone's Etsy store I covet, and it was this gorgeous stone with all these spears of purple that brought to mind that amethyst geode. And then I remembered that early fascination with stones, and why it is I prefer real stones to glass in my jewelry.
