I Have a Habit of Picking Up Rocks
There is something you should probably know about me.
I have a habit of picking up rocks.
Not occasionally.
Not when I'm specifically looking for them.
Always.
Walk with me along a beach, a riverbank, a bush track or a mountain trail and there's a very good chance I'll stop mid-conversation because something on the ground has caught my eye.
Sometimes it's a crystal.
Sometimes it's a fossil.
Sometimes it's simply a beautifully shaped pebble.
Sometimes it's nothing more than an interesting piece of ordinary rock.
At least, ordinary to everyone else.
I've learnt that people tend to fall into one of two groups.
Those who walk straight past.
And those who stop to look.
If you're reading this, I have a feeling I already know which group you belong to.
I don't remember exactly when I started collecting rocks.
It feels as though they've simply always been part of my life.
Long before I knew the names of minerals.
Long before I understood geology.
Long before I realised that crystals formed beneath the Earth's surface over millions of years.
I was simply curious.
I wanted to know why one rock sparkled while another didn't.
Why some were smooth and others rough.
Why one felt surprisingly heavy.
Why another looked as though someone had painted it by hand.
Children have a wonderful habit of asking "Why?"
Somewhere along the way, many of us stop asking.
I've tried very hard not to.
Perhaps that's why I still find myself crouching beside walking tracks, turning over stones that most people never notice.
The remarkable thing is that every rock has a story.
Some were born deep beneath ancient mountains.
Others were carried thousands of kilometres by rivers.
Some were shaped by glaciers.
Others by volcanoes.
Some are hundreds of millions of years old.
Others are older than the dinosaurs.
A few are older than almost anything else we can touch.
When you begin to understand geology, the ground beneath your feet changes forever.
You're no longer walking across dirt and stones.
You're walking across the history of our planet.
That thought never fails to amaze me.
One of the greatest misconceptions about collecting crystals is that people believe you have to own rare or expensive specimens.
You don't.
Some of my favourite pieces have been found on ordinary walks.
A beautifully banded pebble.
A tiny fossil.
A piece of quartz glinting in the sunshine.
A smooth stone that simply felt wonderful in my hand.
Their value has never been measured by money.
It's measured by the memories attached to them.
I still remember where many of them came from.
A family holiday.
A walk through the bush.
A quiet afternoon by the ocean.
A place that changed me.
The stone becomes a bookmark in the story of your life.
Of course, I now collect crystals and minerals from around the world.
I know their names.
I understand how they form.
I can spend hours reading about mineral chemistry, crystal systems and geological processes.
I find all of that endlessly fascinating.
But if I'm being completely honest...
I still get just as excited by a beautiful pebble.
Because curiosity has never really cared about price tags.
Curiosity simply asks,
"I wonder what this is?"
I think that's one of the reasons I love children exploring nature.
They don't worry about whether something is valuable.
They pick up feathers.
Shells.
Leaves.
Seed pods.
Interesting sticks.
Funny-shaped rocks.
They collect moments.
Somewhere along the way, adulthood convinces many of us that curiosity is childish.
I think the opposite is true.
Curiosity keeps us young.
It reminds us that there is still more to discover.
Still more to learn.
Still more to notice.
Every walk becomes an opportunity.
Every beach becomes a treasure hunt.
Every garden becomes a tiny expedition.
Perhaps that's why I never come home from a holiday empty-handed.
There is almost always a pocket with a small stone tucked inside.
A quiet reminder of somewhere I've been.
A memory I can hold in the palm of my hand.
These days, I smile when people notice me bending down yet again.
They already know.
Jennifer has found another rock.
They're usually right.
And I suspect I'll still be doing exactly the same thing when I'm eighty.
Hopefully with slightly slower knees.
Because I've come to realise something rather lovely.
I was never really collecting rocks.
I was collecting stories.
And every now and then, one of those stories finds its way back into my hand.
These days, I have another companion who likes to stop and look at the ground.
My magnificent, magical son.
His pockets have an uncanny ability to fill with rocks, just as mine always have.
Some are smooth.
Some are oddly shaped.
Some are chosen for reasons only he understands.
Every single one is worthy of bringing home.
Watching him reminds me that curiosity doesn't need to be taught.
It simply needs to be encouraged.
Children have a remarkable ability to notice what adults often walk straight past.
A feather.
A shell.
A seed pod.
A strangely shaped stick.
A tiny crystal sparkling in the sunlight.
Or the perfect rock.
Sometimes I wonder if one of the greatest gifts we can give a child is permission to remain curious for as long as possible.
To ask questions.
To collect treasures.
To wonder.
To notice.
Because the world becomes a far more interesting place when we slow down enough to see it.
A Moment to Reflect
Think back to when you were a child.
What did you collect?
Shells?
Leaves?
Feathers?
Stamps?
Buttons?
Interesting sticks?
Rocks?
Why do you think those things fascinated you?
Sometimes our earliest collections quietly reveal the interests that stay with us for a lifetime.
Perhaps the things that captured your attention as a child are still trying to tell you something today.