Nature Connection: When Stones Take Flight

There’s something about being human that makes us look closely at certain things while we are out walking in nature, perhaps even putting them in our pocket. When we get them home, we may put them on a windowsill, table or in a bowl to enjoy on a daily basis. Maybe it’s a few acorns or certain seashells, a moss covered branch, or a dark stone with a white ring around it that catches our attention.

Collecting often begins in childhood, but it’s easy to accumulate so many whelk shells that they appear all over the house and then you hope no one looks in the box under the table in the corner. 

A few years ago, I sorted through my collections and let most of them go. I still like to pick up things and look at them, perhaps even sketch them, but I leave most of them in the woods or on the beach. I no longer bring home every beautiful scallop or whelk shell I see, which is good, because I see a lot.

I do, however, seem to tuck a small stone or two into my pocket often enough that I now seem to have a rock collection. I’m partial to the dark ones with rings around them, pure white ones that are perfectly round, and ones that have faces on them. There are a surprising number of the latter, and if you’ve never noticed one before now, you’re welcome.

My sudden interest in stones amuses me as there was a time when I thought all rocks were just boring. I was a child fascinated with birds early on. They were beautiful, magical creatures that could fly. What was there not to love? As I got to know more birds by name and song I also began to see and learn about frogs, toads, salamanders, turtles and snakes. These guys were so interesting. They lived in odd places and had odd habits. They were what was then called cold-blooded and had to become dormant all winter. Some were smooth, some were scaly, some were damp. They tended to lead private lives so as a child it was a lucky delight to actually spend some quality time with one.

Mammals of course were easy to love. So many were furry, even cute. Some were incredibly beautiful. None wanted to hang around and play with me, though, so I had to love them from afar and mostly from pictures.

Plants were never my favorite. I grew up in a family that gardened but they weren’t fancy gardeners. They grew marigolds and zinnias, a few tomatoes and maybe a begonia or a mum depending on the season. I thought planting some plants while pulling out others called weeds was silly and I always wondered how they could tell the difference. Plants didn’t do anything, not like snakes or chickadees anyway. You couldn’t watch a plant; at least I couldn’t, especially when I was a kid.

Trees were nice and I loved to climb them, but I couldn’t tell a maple from an oak. It wasn’t until I was well into adulthood that I learned more about trees. They were just standing there, weren’t they?

At the beach there were crabs and sea stars and fish as well as seashells everywhere. They were cool. Every beach was a little different and I loved looking for unique crabs and snails in tidal pools. I learned to follow the trails of some and to watch out for hidden pincers in the sand when I was walking barefoot.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned about plankton and the tiny creatures that are the basis of aquatic life. I’ve learned about stars and geography, how dunes form and move, how erosion happens, what poison ivy looks like, and some of the most common fungi and lichens.

And then came rocks. I learned about rocks in school and even took a course all about rocks and minerals when I was about 12. There were some pretty ones and interesting ones, but they weren’t alive, just boring. They just sat there. I wanted my nature to move, to have some drama.

Of course, stones don’t just sit there. They have histories, they change, they move with various climate events. They wear down with water, with rubbing, with time. As I got older, stones became more interesting. Maybe I related to them more.

One beach I walk on often has a lot of rocks. Most are small, very worn and rounded, quite beautiful to see in their neutral smoothness. I occasionally pocket one or two for luck, but mostly I watch the water and the birds. The loons have arrived, both the common and the red-throated which spend winters here. I’d never heard a red-throated loon call before this day but one in a group of three called quite a bit. Scoters and eiders are here as well, and I saw a few flying by in the distance in small flocks. Sanderlings ran along the shore ahead of me and I could hear a gull announcing something urgent.

The light off the rocks was sparkling and the day was warming quickly. The usual seaweed, skate egg cases, old gull feathers, and crab shells were strewn about the wrack line. A lone semi-palmated plover ran across wet rocks to the sand at the shoreline. I looked around. Usually where there is one, there are many, but not this time. I wondered if it had lost its way, but it seemed unconcerned.

I continued along, stopping to enjoy the light on the water and the rocks. So many rocks. And then some began to move. I watched as the stones flapped their wings and took flight. A flock of perfectly camouflaged plovers lifted into the sky. Rocks and birds and the magic circle of imagination and life, so many wonderful gifts of nature to enjoy. We just have to be willing to stop, look and listen.