When rocks say "Hello!"

When my husband and I moved to New Rockford almost fourteen years ago, it was because I had taken a position on the Spirit Lake Reservation to develop and teach a culturally-relevant college curriculum on natural resources. The first class I taught was on native plants and their uses, and half of the class consisted of elders who still remembered the plant names that their grandparents once used. It was a fascinating and collaborative effort as we navigated the space between indigenous knowledge and scientific methods.

What I learned while teaching will always stay with me, however there is one piece of indigenous knowledge that re-emerges often. That is the understanding that rocks are ancient beings who have great wisdom to share, for they are the oldest of the relations.

Scientifically speaking, rocks do have impressive stories. For example denditiary jasper, a yellowish-brown stone with random flecks of dark markings, formed from depositions of sediment and algae some 4.5 to 6 billion years ago. What I really like about this kind of jasper is how the markings often take on shapes and images in my mind.

A dear friend once offered me this advice, “If a rock says hello, or smiles at you, then you need to spend some time with it. It has something to say.”

It turns out he was right, a fact I learned through grief.

As so many of you know, in difficult times it is near impossible to look up and see the world. After my mother passed, I made a commitment to walk my dog everyday. Leonard is an Olde English Bulldog who moves slowly. I easily moseyed along, oblivious to the world, with my eyes fixed on the ground.

Soon I began to take notice of the rocks that emerged in through the alleyways, resided near the roadside or slipped into sidewalk cracks.

“Stop,” they’d say.

“Look at me,” they’d call out.

“Put me in your pocket!” they’d insist.

I did as they asked – because who am I to argue with a rock?

I felt how some stones were cool, some warm. Some were smooth, rough, heavy or light. Each one beautiful, each one different, and that was exactly what I needed. These rocks offered something different than the stages of grief I’d been trudging through for months.

Every day I brought a few rocks home and cleaned them up. Many were perfect just the way they were, while others took a spin in the rock tumbler to better reveal their character. Between tumbling cycles, I’d dive into geological research with the hope to understand my new found friends a little better.

I soon came to understand that these smooth stones rode upon ice age glaciers for millenia. In that time, they got worn down and redefined. Whether they be quartz, basalt, peridotite, jasper, gneiss, schist or most any other loose stones that you’ll find around here, these rocks have endured the power of change longer and far more intensely than we could ever imagine.

As children, many of us heard the phrase, “don’t throw stones,” either metaphorically or quite literally. Now that I’m older, I’m beginning to think that it’s equally inconsiderate to be hoarding them.

Don’t get me wrong, these rocks have made great company. The truth is that over time, I’ve accumulated more than plenty. So I am setting a new intention of sharing these rocks by casually placing them around town, you know letting them be free and in the wild. To those of you who delight in finding rocks – keep your eyes open, because they might have something incredible to share with you.