Box of Rocks

I've been collecting things as long as I can remember. I started with rocks. A visit to a rock shop was a quick and harmless gift my parents indulged me in quite often. Relatives would send rock samples to me that they had found, mined or bought from their local rock shops. I ended up with a reasonably sized and labeled rock collection by kindergarten. Which of course, went to show and tell days at school.

And everyone, teachers included, were amazed by the various specimens, and would handle them as if all were made of fragile glass. We turned the crystal structures in light beams to make rainbows on the walls. We played with lodestones and made iron fillings dance across a table. We wondered at the formation of geodes with their tiny forests of crystals hidden for millennia. We peeped at each other through the holes melted through fused sand made when lighting hits the beach. And because we had a good teacher, we learned exactly how hard it is to knapp a piece of flint or start a fire with it.

And I learned that a collection of things is much more powerful than those very same things if they are all separate. The collection gives context. And to children, simple rocks can be a great tool for learning complex concepts about appreciating differences. Every single rock in my collection is different, like the people on this planet. I wanted to collect them all, so that everyone could see something they recognize in there.

But the problem with rocks, like people, is there are just too many to collect. I now have a large wooden chest full of them, which is almost too heavy for me to move. Because there is greater impact in a collection, not individual specimens, my wish is that this box of rocks eventually finds a new home in a museum or University.

More will be said about the box of rocks soon, as I start photographing and sharing memories of the rocks themselves. Mostly I'm still coming to terms with the fact that it too, should pass from my hands soon.