It was third grade. From my house, I walked down the hill and inched my way to the creek looking for rocks. The moving water intrigued me as much as it terrified my father. I never knew if the child drownings he reported really happened or not, but it made me all the more cautious. I was looking for rocks. Opening my field guide I matched each rock to the description. Before I left, I had collected about a dozen samples to bring to school for Sister Mary Peter. Clutching the small bag of rocks as I scrambled up the hill, I couldn't wait to get home and let all the rocks tumble onto the floor to ready for closer examination. My find.
Last Sunday, I spent time on the beach-just exploring. This time I left the rocks behind, but not until I took a photo of my find. A keepsake to feed a passion that began long ago.