It started with the death of someone I’d never met.
I am a treasure seeker (aka pack-rat) and love going to auctions. If I’m at an estate auction, I pass the time constructing a biography of the person’s life. You can tell a lot about someone from their things. This practice is usually entertaining, but sometimes the stuff going under the gavel is depressing. Family pictures are the worst. It tells a sad story when generations of black and white photos are dumped in a cardboard flat for sale. Their curling corners say that the last of the family, or perhaps the last one to care about preserving its history, is gone.
About 7 years ago I went to an estate auction for someone I did not know. Neighbors said that the owner was an elderly woman who had taught school for over 50 years and never married. In less PC days, she would have been called an old maid schoolteacher. I remember that auction because that’s where I bought a box of rocks.
I’ve always liked rocks. Whether rough, craggy specimens that break open to reveal the elegant shine of quartz, a bit of leaf preserved forever as fossil or an amalgam fused together and worn smooth by time and water, the look and the feel of them appeals to me.
Much as I like rocks, however, I’m not in the habit of spending my hard earned money to buy them, even if they’re only going for $1. That’s what I paid for the rocks at this auction. I bought them because they told a story about a life, and it was a story I wanted to preserve.
The lady was a traveler who picked up rocks and seashells as souvenirs of the places she went. She marked each with the date and place gathered, like a Bedrock travel journal.
The oldest specimen is a seashell simply marked “Florida, 1940.” Most of her souvenirs were from Long Island, with an almost equal number from Lake Superior. In the life story I created for her, she had a brother in New York and a sister in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and she visited them on alternate summer vacations. She also went to Florida a couple of times. Two, small rocks are marked “petrified potato, backyard.” I’ve never heard of petrified potatoes but it’s possible. They do look like potatoes. Besides, she wouldn’t lie to me.
One small, very ordinary rock is marked “Wales”. I built a whole, Katharine Hepburn in the movie Summertime fantasy about this one. She scrimped, saved and planned for years to take this trip, and it was the highlight of her life. She found love and romance in Europe, but circumstances kept her and her lover apart. He stayed in Wales, and she went home – sadder, wiser, and with memories to last a lifetime.
I bought the box because nobody else wanted it, and I didn’t want her mementos tossed aside as if they meant nothing. It was a memory adoption.
I also adopted her practice, and have chronicled my own sporadic trips in the same way ever since. There’s sea glass from my last trip to my parent’s Florida condo before they sold it, the rock plucked from the spray of the Irish Sea in 2009, and my own Brighton Beach memoir from 2 years ago. When I touch that smooth, black stone I can practically feel the sun beating down and smell the salty tang of the strong wind that was whipping off the English Channel that day.
The most recent piece in my collection is a seashell from the beach at San Francisco Bay when I visited my girls there a couple of months ago. I augment my collection with other bits of stony memorabilia like rocks my then-young kids painted into lady bugs and Pokeballs, and pieces of purple quartz my mother-in-law used to keep by her sink.
These mementos will mean nothing to my kids when I’m gone, and that’s OK. “Stuff” is not the most important thing. Still, when the time comes for all my treasures to go on the auction block, I hope there will be a kindred romantic soul there to see my stuff through indulgent eyes. Someone who will be willing to invest a dollar in a box of memories.
Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings 
What a nice idea! I am going to adopt it too! I have several little rocks at home – if I could only remember what I was trying to remember when I picked them up – (and where I picked them up)….
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Isn’t that a nice idea? It made a lot of sense to me. The only problem is, like you, I couldn’t remember where I got all the ones I already had, so I decided on a “from-now-on” rule.
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You must be cosmically related to my late, dear mother-in-law, Peg. When JoAnn died a few years ago, we cleaned out her house and came across an entire drawer filled with rocks and shells. It weighed a ton! At first, my husband and his brothers were just going to toss it, but then more sensible heads prevailed. 🙂 My sister-in-law got glass jars, divided all the rocks up, and gave a ribbon-wrapped jar to each of the grandkids. It’s a nice way to remember grandma. And yes, the rocks were from JoAnn’s roamings here and there.
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That’s a lovely idea! Good for your sister-in-law for coming up with it.
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You rock, Peg, and so does this blog. Both touching and beautiful.
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Aw, thanks Al. I have to admit I found another bowl of big, ugly, unmarked rocks under a chest of drawers and couldn’t remember what I was saving them for. I dumped them in the garden.
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Oh such a wonderful way to pay tribute to this owner of rocks!
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Since I made up that story about her life, now whenever I look at the bowl I think of Katharine Hepburn.
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I’m sure she wouldn’t want it any other way!
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Nicely said, Peg. Love your ability to convey the sentiment behind keeping something as simple as a rock from a treasured time and place. Maybe I should start naming and dating my ‘stuff’. 🙂
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I think it’s a good idea, especially for rocks and seashells. Let’s face it, Tar, our memories are going to hell in a handbasket.
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When the time comes, tell your kids to post the address of your memorabilia’s auction site. 😉
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Hey, good plan! I’m sure they’ll make a ton off my ton of rocks.
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I’m a collector too! My daughter and I have combed beaches on all of our family vacations. We have a standing joke. I will make something outrageous with our humongous seashell collection and give it to her for a wedding gift. Ha!
I also am one who like to amass treasures, but suck at auctions. I went for years, but get too hyped up and have bought the wrong item on a number of occasions. I stick to garage sales instead.
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No joke, Susie, that would be fabulous. I’ve seen some big, gorgeous mirrors with elaborate shell frames, and knowing that you had collected them together? Totally special gift.
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But really, we’ve always laughed when walking into shops where some over-zealous glue-gun crafter covered every surface. I’ll be thinking out of the box on this one. Ha!
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And then you discovered that ala Dexter, they were all mementos of a serial killer’s murders? Or have I been watching too much TV?
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Could be, but they’re all too small to do much damage if someone tried to use them to bash somebody in the head.
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I’m not saying the rocks were the murder weapons, just souvenirs from the scene or something.
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I have been saying I was going to start doing this, but dammit I really am now. Thanks for the inspiration. I am really glad you saved that old school marm’s rocks!
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Go for it! Don’t think of it as one more, damn thing to dust.
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For sure. I forgot to tell you that I live in the UP of Michigan and have found many treasures on the shores of Lake Superior– I’ve probably walked the same beaches where your teacher friend’s rocks were found!
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I love this idea. But I think that you should add your rocks to the ones you bought. Then the future owner will think that box is particularly lucky — see how long this person lived? Thank the rocks!
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Ha! I love the idea of messing with some poor schlub’s mind from the Great Beyond.
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Why stop a good thing???
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It will go right along with the 30 years of April Fools jokes my will instructs my descendants to undertake.
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I’m not a collector, but this is a sweet idea. So nice that you bought the box of rocks and fantasized about the stories behind them. Also very good for those of us who love your blog.
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Thanks so much! The only problem is that the difference between “hoarder” and “collector” is in the eye of the beholder. Or the TV show producer.
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I love this story and the sentiments you have shared. It makes me sad for a long life lost, forgotten. But also uplifted by the rescue you made.
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I get sad when I think of all the people who went before us. Does anyone remember them? Will they remember us? Then I think, “meh – have some more wine.”
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Such a bittersweet post. My kids are always taking rocks or shells from our beach outings. We do save the little ones and filled up a big glass vase. Never thought of making note of location or what year, though. I loved your story about the Wales one. One of my favorite movies. (I do a pretty good Katherine Hepburn impression…)
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Complete with shaking head and turtleneck? I’d love to see it.
I only wish I’d done this with some of the shells we picked up with the kids on the shore of the Illinois River, a 1/4 mile walk from our house. Is it cheating if I pick a random shell from the pile and write a possibly fraudulent memory on it?
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I don’t think anyone will question let alone fault you, Pegomytreasures!
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I will do a vlog of my impressions but just for you. Here’s a taste of Hepburn [shaking head]: “Spencer! Spenceeeeeeer! I wear the pants in the family!”
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This is lovely, Peg. I love the idea of jotting down where each rock was from. What a nice way to preserve a memory. We don’t buy much for souvenirs. Instead we buy a fridge magnet from places we visit. But I really like the rock idea, and I love the stories you concoct from them.
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I like the fridge idea as well. Some people do shot glasses, and my sister collects postcards. It’s nice to put those souvenirs on display.
Speaking of souvenirs, another very small collection I have is souvenir plastic shoes (only a couple inches long) with glitter and tiny seashells glued to them. Most are stamped “Florida” and seem 50s kitschy to me. They are really hard to find!
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That’s a unique one too. Some people also do thimbles.
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Aw Peg, what a great thing to do! The buying of the woman’s collection and then starting your own. So cool! 🙂 🙂
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Kinda randomly stupid, but now that I have them I don’t seem to be able to toss them – it’s like I’m the keeper of her flame.
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It’s so not stupid!!! Don’t be stupid and call it stupid!!! 😜
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Lovely, Peg! Very touching. However, I would check to see if the brown rock she labeled as “Fido” really is a rock….
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Given the petrified potatoes, that’s a very real fear. I’ll make sure I don’t keep the rocks anywhere near water lest they all reconstitute.
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I don’t feel like such a misfit anymore. I spent six years in the Coast Guard. A friend I worked with was transferred to an ice breaker. I saw him about a year later and he handed me a rock. He said it was from his expedition to Antarctica. Apparently, it’s a fairly common for people on ice breakers to bring rocks back as gifts. I held it in my hand and was astonished. “This thing used to sit on the ground in Antarctica!” I still have it.
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I think that’s cool! But write on it where you got it, from whom and when, and it will be a nifty paperweight/bit of history. It’s no longer some random rock that your kids will chuck a few minutes after you’ve shuffled off this mortal coil.
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Tears in my eyes. This is so lovely.
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Did you stub your toe?
Oh…wait…because it was so lovely. I should finish reading.
Please forgive. I couldn’t resist. If you pitch it over the plate, I’m going to swing for the fence.
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Philistine.
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Isn’t that a place in the Middle East?
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Thanks Deb. You have the soul of an artiste.
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Waitaminute. She’s got the soul of an artisté and I’m a Philistine?! Okay. As Bukowski would say: scramble two.
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That’s how it goes sometimes.
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I know. But you never get used to it. You think you will but you don’t.
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😉
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I am sure your unknown stranger (a stranger is a friend we have not met yet) collector would love this.
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That’s a nice thought. I usually think of a stranger as a potential axe murderer or panhandler, but your definition is much nicer.
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Oh, you are right, stranger ARE potential axe murderers … I am sure a lot of people have that potential in themselves! The good news is – very rarely do we act upon that.
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So cool! Brings back bittersweet memories for me. We had a collection of sea shells, abalone and shark’s teeth, from our many visits to Florida. My mom would get therapy at the Warm Mineral Springs, and then we’d go to The Fisherman’s Warf and the beach. Unfortunately, we lost it all in a sewage-flood. 😦
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“Sewage flood?” How horrible! I could see why you wouldn’t want to hold on to THOSE bits of memory.
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Yeah, the sewers couldn’t handle all the rain, so black poo-water came up from the drains up to 4 feet, and couldn’t drain for 3 days. So, yeah, everything had to be thrown out. 😦
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I have a new take on the insult: “She’s dumber than a box of rocks.” Cause at least it would mean I’m well traveled.
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Haha! That’s looking at things in a whole, new light.
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Walking a beach, picking up just one rock. That’s what I do. Only one.
I have four white smooth egg-shaped stones I picked up walking beaches along the Adriatic Sea back in 2013. One is slight smaller than the next, and the next, and the next. They line the windowsill in my kitchen and every time I look at them…I Zen out.
Off to watch “Bringing Up Baby.” Classic Kate. *grin*
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I can imagine your rock lineup on the windowsill – it sounds lovely.
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I have some old furniture in my bedroom. My wife and I bought the pieces in an antique store when we moved to this house and decided we were old enough to have bureaus. I have a similar relationship with the furniture, and I once wrote a little about one some stains on the chest of drawers. Wonderful as always, Peg-O.
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“we were old enough to have bureaus.” what a wonderfully evocative phrase!
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Beautiful post, beautiful idea Peg! Can’t wait to see your collection at Thanksgiving!
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Thanks Becky. Can’t wait to see you either!
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YES!!! YES!!! I also came upon a box of rocks…some of them gems…at an estate sale. Each one was carefully labeled and sitting in cotton, and I couldn’t help but think how sad it was that no one in the family wanted these memories which had obviously taken up care and time from their owner’s life. So now my own family has a box of rocks, and I have faith and no doubt, Peg, that just the right persons will someday have our boxes of rocks and be adding their own stories to them. Life is quirky and lovely isn’t it?
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Barb, I can’t believe you ran across the same thing. Maybe rock adoption is becoming a thing, hmm?
Life IS quirky and lovely…when it’s not being horrible and foul.
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This is one of the most beautiful stories I have read and I thank you for being a remarkable person to have invested a dollar in a box of memories to keep someone alive. I am reblogging this gem of a tale.
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Well, I was going to reblog it, but can’t find a way………
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Thank you so much! I just discovered that, for some reason, the “reblog” button only shows up when you click to read all the comments. Who knew?
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What a great post, Peg! I love the idea of using something small from nature to inspire memories about your visit. I have a bowl of shells and rocks from various places I’ve been. It’s like all of the places of my past mingle together in that bowl.
I also love that you create stories for people at the estate sales.I do things like that too. I think there might be a novelist lurking in you. 🙂
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If I only had the discipline to sit down and write it, I’m sure I would be a fantastic novelist. 😉
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I’m with you all the way on this one, Peg! I love rocks. They carry the energy of the place they “live” in, so when you pick one up from a place you visit, you take a bit of the energy of that place with you into your home. I have a collection of my special rocks–probably only special to me and that’s okay. The rocks and I know. What else matters, right? 😉
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What a great idea – that rocks carry energy. I like the thought of my bowl of memories humming away.
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Cheers to your adoption!
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Thanks!
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Reblogged this on lawabidingbrunette and commented:
Really a beautiful post, makes me want to go out and collect rocks from wherever I go!
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Thanks for the reblog and kind comment.
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Memory adoption – I like that phrase. Estates sales are always a bit sad. I keep wondering if the “kids” will think in a few years “I wish I’d held on to that”. Sometimes the most unassuming items are the treasures because of their story.
My mom collected rocks, but we never thought to write on them -that’s brilliant ( a to do from now on thing now) I shipped a bunch to my brother a few years ago as Mom had always said they were his…now he’s got to deal with them. HA
Great post. You know, you could really create a cool book with the rocks – pictures, a map of her travels…you might even be able to locate info/pictures of her or the places at that time period…in you vast amount of spare time…but it would be cool right?
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That WOULD be cool! Unfortunately, she didn’t put a whole lot of detail on them, and some of the writing has worn off, especially on the shells. It’s interesting to me that most of the specimens she chose are WAY bigger than mine. You can tell hers were collected in the days before we were charged for every, single ounce of luggage.
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That’s lovely. I like collecting pretty rocks and shells when I go places too, I keep them in a big jar, but I’ve never thought to write where they’re from on them. I like ones that make me smile, this one was a particular favourite that I collected last year (if the link works) – https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10204226784530971&l=2a73587017
It’s much nicer than buying tacky souvenirs isn’t it, an actual little piece of the place.
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What a quirky rock! Definitely one to add to the collection, VJ.
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I cannot decide which I love more, that you preserved that woman’s memory box or that your continued her habit. I think both are equally lovely.
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It’s a cool way to preserve small bits of trips, Val.
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This is a beautiful post. Thank you, thank you, thank you for sharing it with us.
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Thank YOU for stopping by.
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I love the fact that you are keeping her memories alive with your own stories. You will never know but might be surprised how accurate you are! Great post!
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Thanks. Wouldn’t that be great if I were somewhere near the mark with her life?
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