Rock of Ages- My Playdate with Kathy, Dawn and You
Peep over at Mary Oliver’s poem “Praying” before you read this please.
“…a few small stones: just pay attention, then patch a few words together…”
This is the patching.
Thank you Mary.
I love stones. I worked long ago on the shores of Lake Superior and by the end of those summers; I would have more poundage of stones than dirty laundry or mosquito bites. My Mom would chide me for driving stones around the country as I moved from Escanaba, to Houston, to Marquette, to Louisville, to Chicago, to Louisville again, then New York City. Now in the stony Berkshires I have plenty to keep me company, though I must admit to collecting stones from wherever I travel. The first time I stood next to my husband in a Jewish cemetery, I saw all the headstones decorated with handfuls of small rocks. I realized then what I have been doing carrying stones around with me from home to home. I am remembering where I have come from and that I too, carry the love of that former place to this new place. On and on, I move small piles of memories held in stones.
When you stand on the shores of Superior, or the Atlantic or probably any large body of water, there are times when the surf moves sheets of stones in the waves and the sound is like no other. The texture of the minerals rubbing against each other, becoming sand eventually, grinding away with the action of wind and water, it is quite a sound. Is it the sound of the sands of time perhaps?
My Moon Circle is about to hold our Summer Solstice Sweat Lodge. Yeah, we can be witchy with ritual. We bring rocks to the fire that are imbued with our intentions, honor and desires. We construct a framework of logs to hold the rocks in the 4 directions. Then, when the rocks have withstood an enormous fire, my fire tending Lydi and I rake them in to the sweat lodge to gather their heat in to our bodies and their wisdom in to our souls. Some of the rocks split open and shower orange crystal sparkles. Some reveal their insides that have long forgotten the yellow glare of the sun or the wet of rain; they reveal their insides to us in those moments. Time exposure.
The rocks I found yesterday are what I see nearly every day. I walked to the river with Lydi early to swim and see what we could see. Then at 12:30 I headed out to the yard. I realized the stones that surround my house are ones that I have chosen during my travels and brought home. Costa Rican green stones, Mediterranean white, the pinks and grays of the Cape and of course, my beloved Lake Superior stones.
When we go home in the summer to visit my parents, I allow myself to buy 3 or 4 knobs made with Superior stones. A man who sails on the ore boats makes them. Our kitchen cupboards are slowly becoming like the stony beach at Big Bay. I strew stones on my altar among the chickens and art.
Please don’t tell Danny about this collection of flat stones. When our boys were little, oh, about 12 years ago, our families were on the Cape together. Danny and I stood on the shore of Wellfleet Bay and skipped rocks at low tide on to the silvery gray ocean surface until our shoulders were sore. We talked the whole time. I don’t think we have had that much time to just talk since that afternoon. He will have his 50th birthday some year soon and I intend to give him a box of rocks that we can haul to some shore and catch up on our talking. These rocks are from all over the world. Don’t they look like they will fit into his big hands perfectly?
I know this is one honking big blog post. The blog police will be out to get me. But I am armed with stones, not ones with which to fill my pockets and drown nor to slay Goliath, just the ones to remind me of all the places I have loved all over this fine planet.
You can see a slide show of these stones on my Flickr page. Just click over one of the photos above. I cannot get this page to link to Kathy’s but if you would be so kind as to go over to my blog roll and link to ‘Kathy in the north woods’ you will see her gorgeous post titled “Simply Stones”.
Love, S
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