My love affair with rocks is decades old now. At some point in my travels, likely after I quit smoking in the late 80s, I traded my habit of collecting matches and ashtrays for natural mementos of the places I’d visited. And so it began, the tucking of pebbles and stones into a pocket here and there whenever I was in a foreign country or new province. I gathered stones from California’s Pacific coast, from Prince Edward Island’s Cavendish beach, and suddenly, a new tradition was born.
In 2014, I transferred to a new school and a different teaching grade, and suddenly, rock and minerals were a part of the science curriculum I was expected to teach. That summer, on my first trip to Scotland since 2001, I decided to gather samples from all parts of the country, including some from a day trip to the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland. I came home with some interesting specimens, including a silvery triangular one with a fossilized fish from Loch Lomond.
Newfoundland, and therefore connected to my beloved Scotland.
My students quickly pored over my bagfuls of colourful rocks and minerals, and before too long, many of them were returning from their own vacations with gifts for me. From all the presents, I’ve made small bee baths for my front garden, and decorative art for the back yard. For the most part, the rest of the collection is kept in glass vases or smaller decorative bowls. I can easily recognise many of them and pinpoint their exact location and the memory associated with each one.
Today, the most beautiful one of them all landed in front of me, unexpectedly and with the most touching story attached to it. Yesterday, as our school held its year-end graduation ceremonies, one of my students was recognised for an award. For many reasons, I was proud of her achievements, especially because she has been very enthusiastic about learning French since the year began. Her unusually profound love for this language, which her father told about in the schoolyard back in September, coincided with my determination to continue the ongoing process of decluttering our home over the summer. I decided that I would go see if I could find a childhood book to pass onto her as a remembrance of this successful year and milestone in her school career. I found an old weathered copy of the Winnie-the-Poo hardcover novel in French, which my school librarian had given me when it was in poor enough condition to warrant its removal from her shelves. I treasured it over 40 years ago, and have kept it all this time. Yesterday, without hesitation or regret, I gently passed it forward to another pair of hands who will take excellent care of it and enjoy the words between its old pages until she too one day will do the same thing.
This is the same edition as the book I gifted my student. I forgot to take a photo of my
copy, but I'm sure you can picture it with white medical tape supporting a damaged
spine.
copy, but I'm sure you can picture it with white medical tape supporting a damaged
spine.
She cried when she unwrapped it, and told me it was the best gift ever. I explained to her why I wanted her to have it, and we went on to have a beautiful afternoon graduation ceremony.
Today, I found a gift bag on my desk from her, filled with some of my favourite chocolates and a very touching thank you card that reaffirmed how much she loved the book. And then at the bottom of the bag, I found a rock. It was big, pinkish, with a porous surface, and when I turned it over, I saw it: a white heart had been formed and imbedded at the centre. I locked eyes with my student, she smiled, and I completely understood why she had cried the previous day because I felt the same overwhelming emotions. A few tears left my eyes, and I assured her that I would find the perfect place for it at home.
And so I have. I've placed it on a special shelf, nestled between a beautiful, special caricature made by a close friend and my two handwritten notes from Pete Townshend.
My new treasure, with the Pete Townshend notes on the left, and my Tigris caricature on
the right.
the right.
4 comments:
Anne Marie, that is just beautiful. I love the far reaching associations in this blog, all rooted in rock. And you are a rock too, to all those children. No wonder she chose one with a heart at its own heart. I love it.
Anne-Marie, you made me cry, again!
These different stories all twine into a larger tale of how much you love and are loved in return.
Do many honey bees visit your bee baths? There is a honey bee farm just over the hill from us and we have lots of fuzzy, black and yellow visitors.I should find my marble collection and make our own welcoming bath. When we went camping in the bush last week, I was surprised how many honey bees there were way out there! They must indeed be making a comeback! Keeping the bears fed, no doubt...
Your rock assortment is something to envy, as well. I, too, have rocks and stones I’ve picked up over the years on which I have placed memories. Many are from my children and hold places of honour on the windowsill of my office. There is also a small, shapely liqueur glass that holds some of my fondest memories.
Thank you Val! I don't post very often anymore, so I do try to make them good ones. This was truly a special end to a very lovely year. <3
Dale, crying for joy is always a good thing, no? To answer your bee question, they do indeed visit once the summer kicks in, and then more so as we roll into fall. The bee bath out front is right beside the daisies, so there is a lot of butterfly and bee traffic.
My rocks are a wonderful way for me to remember the ground upon which I walked. Glad to see I'm not alone in doing so. xx
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