GEOLOGY | MEMORIES

Get Your Rocks Off With Me

The best travel souvenirs are the natural ones

My partner Eddie and I are road trip nuts, for sure. You can always find us plotting our next adventure in the American West or Southwest — paper maps out, Google maps up, old Sunset Magazine articles out for suggestions, be it driving from home or flying to a central destination and renting a car for an extraordinary checking-things-off-the-list adventure.

And yes, we have the tchotchkes to prove it.

Fridge magnets boldly proclaim our exploits in Kings Canyon National Park, Catalina Island, Lassen Peak, New Mexico, Colorado, even Maui and Kauai. All done on a budget and with a smile.

But for me personally, the best souvenirs are all winnowed down into two little bowls in the house — a collection of beautifully unique geological wonders from all of our journeys.

They can be fiery red, a scarred orange, a violently striped black and white, even green or blue. And they call to me from across the room, beckoning with memories of fun exploits.

Yes folks, I’m talking about “plain” and “simple” rocks.

Now some of you for sure are thinking, this Joe guy has lost a few marbles. And that may be true, but I’ve replaced those marbles with rocks, baby!

Who’s with me?

My middle nephew is! He can be walking through an ordinary parking lot and scanning the ground for superb treasures. The crashing waves try to tempt him into the ocean and he’s too busy scavenging for that one-of-a-kind flat stone or sparkly red rock.

So when did this odd fascination start? I wish I could recall. But as I walked a gorgeous beach, as we traversed through a tall-trees forest or as we enjoyed the rapturous red-earth in Utah and Arizona, I couldn’t help but explore creek beds, nearby washes and of course streams meeting the ocean to find such gleaming prizes.

In an ideal world we’d know exactly where each rock hailed from, but alas, there have been too many scheduled vacations mixed together with average Saturday beach days that’ve melded together, with both instances producing winners.

It’s crazy. Some are striped. Some are tiny. Some are jagged.

I’ve even found three — yes, three! — different versions of rocks — oh my heart !— that are shaped like hearts.

Amazing. And a gift that keeps on giving — reminding you that you haven’t wasted all of the hours and moments of your life.

I know, I can hear some of you — but Joe, they’re just… rocks.

True. But to me they’re two special bowls in my home full of pretty reminders that there’s simple beauty all around us in this world. On a blah, not-so-exciting day, it’s nice to know you’ve sought out some of that beauty.

And we can ponder, hmm, look, these rocks are green — these rocks are blue — did those come to us during that wine country trip, when we spent that afternoon down by the Russian River? Or are they from Julia Pfeiffer Beach in Big Sur? I think these three must be from that less-visited state park along our favorite drive between Sedona and Flagstaff, Arizona.

I think these two are from Catalina Island. No, no! They must be from Encinitas Beach or that time we waded in the Virgin River near Zion National Park. Oh, and this little red one, this has to be from that time we swam in the Colorado River near Moab and Arches.

I’ll bet it was that time in the Grand Canyon with the goat. This one is for sure from that forrest outside Sequoia National Park. Oh, and this white one was from my favorite meadow in Sue-Meg State Park along the Redwood Coast, amidst those gargantuan trees.

Just look at the variety —

Apologies to the geology community and the rock nerds — it was not my intention to bring you to unexpected orgasm.

Did you see the stripes in that one?

How exactly can a rock be green and orange at the same time?

For sure that one is from that wildflower-viewing trip at Anza-Borrego.

Look at the markings on that creamsicle-looking one!!

And feast your eyes at this cute little red one! Oh the sedimentary history.

Y’all can keep your trashy plastic trinkets, your made-in-China magnets, your hats and T-shirts, your tiny coffee mugs and pens.

I’ve got two bowls holding the earth’s geological history.

Tactile and sensorial, I can hold them, run my fingers over them and be transported back to a lazy afternoon by a rushing river, that time we finally made it to Montana de Oro Park in the Central Coast, or that feeling of exhilaration after that challenging ascent in Lassen.

And I try to suppress the grin that comes from thinking, hmm, I guess we have been places and we have lived.

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