Rock Hound

I caught a photo of my darling niece "tasting" rocks yesterday afternoon.

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This photo reminds me of long ago, when we were small. Our Father was a rock hound. I loved to watch him working with the rocks. Dad would dig them up from everywhere. Sometimes we went on wonderful vacations, where we would find rare rocky beauties beside the roads, on the beaches and in the mountains.

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Dad would carefully smooth one side of a rock with his thumb, then he would "taste" it with his tongue. As any true Rock Hound knows, when a rock is wet, its true beauty is revealed--a precursor of what it would look like when "tumbled."

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I've known many a rock hound over the years, and all the old timers "taste" the rocks for color.

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As luck would have it, a year ago, or so, my niece and I were looking at some agates next to the pond--without thinking, I stuck a carnelian on my tongue to check it's true color...and guess who followed suit? (grin)

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So, here she is--our little "Rock Hound."