Stones for My Soul by Edie Hemingway

I must have been a geologist in a previous existence. My brother is a geologist in his current life, and my son was a geology major in college, so perhaps it runs in the family. For whatever reason, I am continually drawn to rocks--not fancy gemstones, but plain, solid, often dull rocks. I love smooth stones to cup in my hands or tuck into my pockets, heavier ones to nestle in my arms, flat ones for constructing walls or patios, and even huge boulders to climb, fitting toes to crevice, reaching for handholds, pulling myself up to a perch at the top. Whenever I go on a road trip, I bring home river rocks, coastal rocks, mountain rocks and desert rocks as souvenirs and have even been known to pack them into my suitcase when traveling by air.

Rocks keep popping up in my stories and poems. In ROAD TO TATER HILL, Annie Winters draws comfort from holding her rock baby after the death of her baby sister. In my current work-in-progress (tentatively titled TOE TIP MOUNTAIN), Rob Lawrence thinks of Vinalhaven Island, the place he calls home, as one huge chunk of granite, quarried out, yet still strong. A place he can always count on.

Since "Cook's Choice" was again the topic of this round of blog posts, I thought it fitting to talk about my desire for a daily dose of stone. From every window in my log cabin, I see rocks, whether they are cemented into walls, laid as a patio or stepping stones, or outcroppings scattered through the woods. And when I hit a writer's block and need an extra helping of stone, I head up the trail to what I call my "cathedral rocks" at the top of Chigger Hill.

Below is a poem I wrote called "Stone"

Stone humbles me with its mass,
its strength, its texture--
smooth, grainy, coarse
solid.
Stone awes me with its age,
history beyond comprehension.

What force molded this boulder,
placed it in this spot,
shifted its angle,
firmed its foundation?

Yet life creeps in.
Lichen crusts rounded surface.
Moss softens, colors,
grips moisture.
Seed settles in crevice,
produces weed, fern, sapling
on unrelenting toehold.

Stone exudes a somber dignity
that draws me,
offers solitary strength
and warmth
in thinning autumn sun.