I have always been a collector of stones. There are stones in my work space, home, and garden. They are in almost every room of my home, whether gathered in sturdy baskets or displayed singly. Some I have wrapped in handmade paper; wound with waxed thread; and attached symbolic items such as shells, feathers, or beads.
This stone is covered in handmade paper and wrapped with brown waxed thread. I wanted to be reminded of the forest so it is adorned with a small pine cone, a sterling silver pine cone charm, and lichen.
Most are in their natural state. In my garden, large and small stones line a natural dry creek bed and also serve as borders. Some are placed here and there just “because”.
I realize as I reflect on this that stones must have some significance for me; some importance. I remember “stone searches” at the beach or river’s edge, where I began to collect stones which caught my eye. Over the years many have been picked up, turned over in my hands, and either kept or returned to their place on the beach or in a shallow pool. What was special about stones? Was it the memory of the day or the adventure? Was it the essence of the stone itself?
Friends and colleagues began to bring me stones from their travels, not only for my sandplay collection, but also for me personally. Stones from an Oregon beach, from the coast of Maine, from the Andes, from a Druid circle, and from a sacred valley in Greece.
(continued in Why Stones? Part 2)