With so much time on my hands, as we are about to enter the 9th month of the pandemic, I have taken to climbing up and down the hills around here, oftentimes pausing to stare at, sit on, or simply feel the texture of the various kinds of rocks that are all around. They inspire me; what can I say? So one day, I decided to bring some home to make a rock border around a garden patch in the front. I'm not talking about pebbles or small or even medium-sized stones. I'm talking about big heavy rocks that the rains of many years have shoved deep into the ground. The biggest ones are usually too deeply entrenched to be pried loose, but there are many that can be; you need to wrestle with them - sometimes you can do it with your bare hands, sometimes with the help of a stout stick - and you need some stamina, but eventually you can pull them out of their holes. Then it's just a matter of getting them back to your house. I chose about 10 pretty big rocks and lugged them about 100 meters down the path one by one. Then I went for the wheelbarrow and brought it up to where I'd left the rocks, filled it, and started home. It was a precarious journey, and luckily one of my sons saw me struggling and came to help me when it got to the hard part of the path.
I formed the border of the garden patch and felt good about it. I love my relationship with rocks. I had a truly wonderful time sitting in the quiet shade with the rocks all around me as I pondered their shapes and sizes and then experimented with different ways of fitting them together to form the border. It was very uplifting.
The days went by and I kept walking round and round in the hills, and on one walk I discovered a great sitting rock that I was sure I could take back to the house by myself. This one was really big though and I wouldn't be able to carry it at all. I went back for the wheelbarrow, pushed it up the hill till I came to the rock and laid the wheelbarrow on its side next to the rock. Getting down on my knees, I heaved the rock until it turned over and fell with a crash onto the metal of the wheelbarrow. The tricky part was then turning the wheelbarrow right-side-up. It was extremely heavy and at first, the only way I could do it was to get it partially up, and then let go and let it fall into place. But the rock then slid to the other side and tumped the wheelbarrow over on its other side. With great patience, I went around and did the same thing as before and this time, I turned it upright without letting go, which was no easy feat. The rock stayed in the middle of the wheelbarrow and I started down. It was a harrowing journey, but no one was home to get help from this time. It was me and the rock. Twice the wheelbarrow went over on its side, and I had to get that rock back in, but I refused to give up. When I finally got it inside the gate, I left the wheelbarrow - rock and all - in the middle of the patio and went inside to get something to drink.
Hours later, when my sons got home they asked why the wheelbarrow was sitting in the middle of the patio with a gigantic rock inside. They couldn't believe what I had done and neither wanted to take on the task of getting it out of there. So there it sat. A few days went by and finally I decided to do it myself. I wheeled the wheelbarrow over to where I wanted the rock to sit - it would get the morning sun and I could go out and sit on it and bask in the sun for a little while. But I could not get the wheelbarrow to fit in the right angle to be able to turn it over and get the rock out. After some struggling, I decided to give up for the day, and try again the next day. But the wheelbarrow was off-balance. The rock had rolled to one of the extremes and as I tried to move the wheelbarrow to a spot that wouldn't be in anyone's way until the next day, it fell over and the rock spilled out to the patio, rolled over and came to rest against the wall, exactly where I had wanted to put it in the first place. I stared at it in awe, and promptly sat down to try it out. It was perfect!
When I tried to tell others about the experience, they found it extremely funny. "It's a rock, mom. It's just a rock," said my daughter. But the incredible thing was how the rock ended up being exactly in the perfect spot. When I replayed the events in my mind, everything fit together in a harmonious pattern and I saw the meaning of it in my life.
Maybe it is just a rock. But it has the feel of eternity to it. And I'm glad it found its place on my patio.
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