Romancing the stones

07-10-2005

I admit to many quirks in my nature, but one of the quirkiest is evidenced in the wooden tray on my dresser lined with a collection of small rocks, stones, pebbles, and various other bits of mineral mass that now number 37.

There's a tiny white shell about the size of my thumb nail and one structurally complex bone, which I think is a vertebra of a sheep. Some of the stones are interesting in shape, structure or composition; milky nuggets of quartz mingle with granite-banded sea pebbles, black lava tufts and chocolate-colored conglomerations that most resemble selections from a Whitman's Sampler. Others are not particularly distinguished, common shards of local geology found by the side of the path -- which is not surprising, because that is exactly what they are.

In fact, as far as I can tell, the one factor that makes these mismatched stones special is that they are all in the same tray, brought together from various corners of the globe by me.

I'm not sure when in my travels I got the habit of picking up small pieces of the local landscape to bring home as souvenirs. It's not been a conscious or knowledgeable gathering; nor am I under any self-imposed obligation to bring one back every time I go away. But still, they often follow me home.

Usually, I'll be out walking somewhere on a trip and find myself at a place that strikes me as memorable. I'll look down and one small object will catch my eye. If it has the right look and feel and is no bigger than my thumb I'll drop it in my pocket, unless of course, I'm in one of those places where collecting such souvenirs is expressly forbidden.

Since these objects are inert, indestructible and worthless, no government entity minds when I bring one back and add it to my dresser collection. I know little about geology and have neglected to label each addition with even minimal information about where or when it was found.

I do remember several items and can picture the setting where I found them. The sheep bone, for example, was picked up on an afternoon ramble across Scotland's Trossach Mountains. The gray and white speckled pebble shaped like a fish came from the bed of the Shendong Stream, a tributary of the Yangtze River. The sharp, flinty shard was plucked from the beach at Africa's Cape of Good Hope.

But most of the artifacts in my tray are anonymous. I can hold them in my hand and admire their meager assets with no clue about their origins. Still, it strikes me that these bits of landscape make wonderfully authentic personal mementos, even if place and time can be difficult to know. It's not a matter of empiricism, but resonance.

Somehow, my lack of knowledge about their specifics doesn't diminish the pleasure or sense of connection they bring me. Sometimes, if I close my eyes and roll one of the stones around on my finger tips, I get a mental image of a beautiful place I've been, maybe even a mental slide show. While I can't directly share those visions with others the way I might with a photo or electronic image, they still mean a lot to me.

I am under no illusion that this collection has value to anyone but me. It would fetch no bids on eBay, nor would I accept them if it did. When my heirs come across it, they probably will wonder why their father had rocks in his basket.

No, this melange of minerals has meaning only for me.

So imagine my surprise when several weeks ago I discovered I am not alone in this habit of random rock picking.

I was talking with two colleagues about souvenirs we bring home, and when I told them about the rocky reminders on my dresser, both confessed to having similar collections.

Jill Daly, a page designer on the Features desk, has been bringing back rocks and stones since she was a child. Like me, she's an undisciplined collector, with most of her unlabeled artifacts, sea-smoothed stones from shores on Cape Cod and Seattle, winding up either in her garden or on the laundry room window shelf. She concurs that these natural souvenirs help connect her with places she holds dear.

Arlene Burnett, who helps get out the Destinations section, has collected about 15 stones from various places she has visited over the past four years. Her appreciation began when she and her husband went to Palm Springs, Calif., and she was entranced by the deep red rocks she saw there. Since then, she's grabbed a piece of the places she's visited, which are in a glass bowl by her front door, each labeled with the place and date when it was found. Arlene sometimes tells visitors about her stones, but she says it seldom means much to them.

"But it makes me feel good," she says.

When it comes to personal quirks, isn't that quite a lot?

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