Sentiment About Sediment
Lately, I’ve been spending time discussing geology with the 5-year-old boy who lives up the road. He is the passionate and articulate younger brother of my daughter’s two friends (she also likes him but considers him a baby). Anyway, I usually chat with my young friend while the older kids are off being “mature”. Lately, his obsession with rocks (I remember my son going through that same phase) has grown to a whole new level. What started as us sitting and looking at his rock collection has morphed into something far more physical. No longer satisfied with his curated collection this enthusiastic minor has taken to mining his backyard. He gathers attractive rocks to be deposited into a tumbler (bless his mom for her ability to listen to the rock tumbler rumble and clang without any complaint). Then when the process is complete we discuss the cool things his tumbler has produced. But during our most recent visit, he took me mining for gold in his very own gold mine. He told me that I can help him find gold and be rich. The two of us dug up rocks and then washed them. The treasure was left to dry in the sun. My adorable blue-eyed, sandy-haired foreman felt good about the haul and, with dirt-encrusted fingernails, paid me in high fives. I must admit I have never been so enamored with a boss and I went home feeling all the richer for my experience.
There is something about youth, how they see the world we so easily take for granted, that can transport us back to our childhood and reignite our interest in the natural world. I spend so much of my time focused on the plants and animals around me that I never give much thought to the inorganic parts of my environment. Sure some days I patch a retaining wall or marvel at how well rocks grow in my vegetable garden but I have yet to wonder about them. That is until today.
Just to be clear geology is not my area of expertise. I have a rudimentary knowledge of it, perhaps just enough to impress a kindergartener, so I won’t go into some lengthy explanation of types of rocks and how they are formed. Instead, I will share how my renewed interest in the subject (thanks to my little friend) made me more observant during last week’s field and barn inspection.
I was taking advantage of the beautiful fall weather and decided to check on the old retaining wall at the back of the barn. As I was replacing stones I picked one up that just struck me with awe. Its cool gray surface was weathered and dirty. It was not much different from the other rocks within and around the wall. That is until I turned it over. There, on the flip side, were deep cracks running along the length of the flat slab of stone and within them I found magic. Well, not magic exactly, but a magical feeling nonetheless. Those cracks shimmered in the sunlight and within those crevices, I could see tiny particles of different materials I most notably think are quartz. I was filled with excitement. I couldn’t wait to share my finding with Hannah and the amateur geologist up the road. I carried the manageable-sized slab to the house and called for my daughter to come to see it. She too was thrilled with my find and wanted to go in search of more. That started an exploration I didn’t expect. Hannah gathered rocks and carried them to my potting shed with the intent of finding a tool with which to smash them apart. She busied herself with pummeling her barnyard booty until she managed to break some pieces off revealing the glimmer of crystals. The next order of business was to visit the neighbor kids and share our discoveries. Just as expected we received the anticipated oohs and aahs from the tiny miner and his siblings. Needless to say, I felt inspired to brush up on geology.
It takes a special kind of brain to retain all the geological information out there. It is a complex subject so I am not the least bit ashamed of my elementary understanding of it. I comprehend enough of it to know that my discovery is neither an igneous nor metamorphic rock but a sedimentary one. In case you’ve been living under one, a sedimentary rock has formed through the deposition and solidification of sediment, especially sediment transported by water, ice, and wind. They are usually deposited in layers and often contain fossils. That reminds me of the time a few years ago when my son was exploring the woods and found a rock with a shell fossil. How cool is that! That shell fossil is proof that the fields and woods we call home were once part of a vast ocean. And the cracks in my latest discovery reveal the multitude of minuscule particles that make up the seemingly mundane gray slab. I’m sorry friends. I can’t help but be wonderstruck. After all, these rocks that cover most of the Earth’s surface aren’t all that different from us. We may not be physically formed like sedimentary rocks but our personalities sure are. Just look around. Every one of us is shaped by the lessons from previous generations and a multitude of life experiences. That is why some of us may be cold as stone or considered solid as rock.
Someone cold as a stone is considered unemotional. Now I have known my share of seemingly unemotional people but I believe that deep down most of them do feel every range of emotions. However, they have a difficult time showing them, or at least the ones that make them appear vulnerable. But why? What happened to make them not want to express their feelings? Well, maybe it was the way they were raised or a desire to appear strong. Do the phrases “men don’t cry” or “never let them see you cry” ring a bell? For some people, it has been ingrained in them that crying is a show of weakness and weakness is something you don’t want to be. For example, my husband, the son of Turkish immigrants, was constantly told by his father that crying was bad. He would even be punished for showing emotion. To this day when he sees me or the kids cry he gets uncomfortable, almost angry, but he will never tell us not to cry. I know he feels sadness and heartache but is afraid to let it show. His cold exterior was formed by generations of men being told not to show emotion. Fortunately, it hasn’t been fully cemented and the little cracks allow some of the grief and sorrow to seep out so it may be replaced by joy and happiness.
Men aren’t the only ones who can be cold as stone. My grandma liked to say, “keep a stiff upper lip” and my mom was known for “get over it”. I do see why these matriarchs of my family lived by these mottos. They were raised in much harder and different times. My grandmother as a young woman experienced extreme poverty, teen pregnancy, the loss of an infant, being married to an alcoholic, caring for a diabetic child, and raising three other children. She had to struggle to care for her family and maintain a two-room cold-water flat. She had to be hard to survive. Then when my grandpa quit drinking their lives changed dramatically. They were able to save money, move to a house with running hot water, and provide for their four children. That tough exterior began to erode but heartache would return in middle age when her diabetic son lost his eyesight and leg and eventually his life to his disease. She then became a young widow when my grandpa suffered a heart attack while driving his new car home from the dealership. Fortunately, she had the support of three grown children to hold her up.
All these events happened way before I was even a thought but I heard the stories in detail from my mother who years later was still trying to cope with the loss of her dear brother and beloved father as well as the childhood trauma she experienced. Mom, as the oldest girl, was both caregiver to her siblings and a recipient of her mother’s anger. I’m sure my grandma, consumed by worry and stress, was doing the best she could. She had a sickly son and an irresponsible husband who drank away his paychecks forcing her to work both inside and outside the home. Mom would tell the stories of hearing her father arrive home drunk at night to a quarrelsome mother and then the time she witnessed him in that state. She adored him but seeing him drunk and out of control terrified her and she ran from his embrace. That was the event that forced my grandpa to quit alcohol. Although his change gave them a better life, it was not enough to shift the dynamic between Mom and her mother. Perhaps, Grandma was merely trying to prevent history from repeating itself by being hard on my mother. It could have backfired but Mom met Dad and she did what many other young women of her generation did. She got married in 1960 shortly after her 18th birthday and became a mother by 19. I can envision the individual particles of trauma from all the women before her being deposited into her heart. I’m sure her early years of marriage and motherhood were difficult (my older siblings sure have some stories) but mom kept up appearances and a stiff upper lip while attempting to put down new layers to her life. I’m just glad that by the time I came along she explored college which allowed her passions for poetry and psychology to be rekindled. She learned more about herself and eventually her stone-cold exterior was chiseled away to expose the rock on which the whole family could rely.
During my lifetime Mom was nothing short of dependable. She was a constant source of strength and comfort to anyone who needed it. She would sometimes have her tough love days but those can be a show of love too. Regardless, I learned a lot from her. Her examples of always following through with a plan and being calm during chaotic situations weren’t lost on me. She didn’t allow her life experiences from youth through parenthood to break her spirit (I know she had many that would crush the best of us). No, instead she became a wellspring of knowledge with the ability to function under pressure. I do not doubt for one second that she shed many a tear at night. After all, she wasn’t emotionless. Oh, the contrary. She just knew how to keep her emotions in check so she could get things done. I understand that all too well.
Growing up the youngest of such a big family, I had many opportunities to observe and absorb the actions of my older siblings. I knew at a young age that even though I adored them I certainly did not want to emulate them. My parents, sometimes exasperated, would lose their tempers with us kids. I understand, now as an adult, how difficult it must have been trying to raise such a brood when threats and domination were the only tools passed down to you. They eventually figured out better ways. I do not doubt that my siblings have very different compositions to their cores than I do. I witnessed the heartache that kept my parents awake at night and the migraines that incapacitated my mother when dealing with older children that punishments no longer worked on. But I don’t ever recall either one of them complaining or feeling sorry for themselves. I just saw them push through the pain with the expectation that each upsetting situation would pass. They never gave up on their children’s potential. If better role models for devotion and perseverance ever existed I cannot say. They had plenty of strength and goodness to last them 43 years of marriage (and my Dad another 15 years of widowhood). If I amassed at least a fraction of their virtues then I know I have a solid core.
If you know me or have been reading my posts then you have an idea of the kind of person I am so I won’t spend time exposing my layers. More of that will come as I continue to wonder along. You see upon discovering the rock, I almost immediately compared it to people. I saw those shimmering particles and couldn’t help but think that all of us have so much hidden beneath the surface. That’s how it usually is. I get an idea for wondering and rarely do I know where it will take me until I start writing. I am pleasantly surprised that I have finally reached an ending. So I leave you with this conclusion. It is true that like a sedimentary rock our layers are deposited over a lifetime, even generations. However, unlike an immobile and inorganic object, we can add and shrink layers based on what suits us best. Chances are if you are reading this then you live a life that gives you choices. Your life may not be perfect. None of us have one. You may come from terrible parents. Maybe you’ve made horrible decisions and blame them on your upbringing or environment. Heck, maybe you have been a pillar of strength despite from where you came. Perhaps you’ve learned from all your bad decisions and used that knowledge to educate and help others. All I know is that it doesn’t matter what bad has been deposited into your life you can always find some good to add to it. You can seek out kind people and beautiful experiences. You can learn healthier ways to cope with disappointment. In the end, all of it - positive and negative, happiness and sorrow, love and hate, success and failure - adds up to make you distinctly you and you don’t have to wait to be cracked open to show all your layers. Go ahead, don’t worry about polishing yourself up. Let the world see what you are made of! Chances are there are far more shiny bits than you realized.
