Wherever I go in the world, I'm likely to find a couple of rocks and bring them home. In 1991, while we lived in France, we visited the Normandy beaches where the Allied soldiers landed on D-Day, June 6, 1944. While walking along Omaha Beach, I picked up several handfuls of rocks and carried them home to Provence. In 2001, we moved back to the States, and the rocks came with us. When I finally dug out my rock polishers this September, I found that bag of rocks.
These rocks were so smooth, tumbled by time and tide, that they could go directly through the tumbler with medium fine grit and then on to pre-polish. They came out shiny and wet with the promise of a beautiful finish to be revealed.
The barrel wasn't full enough, so I used pellets to fill the barrel to the 3/4 full mark.
Next came water and the polish.
A week later, the rocks were finished.
I put them in a place of honor in my curio cabinet--a reminder of Herb's father, who fought in France, and of the many young men who gave their lives on those rocky beaches. Seventy years later, children still laugh and play on Omaha Beach . . . What better monument could those brave soldiers ask for?
Susan, wonderful post. I love rocks, have since I was a kid, These are so beautiful and very special rocks. Thanks for sharing your bittersweet story. Your pictures make me want to get a rock polisher again! :)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Janell. Rock polishers are so much fun, especially when you have a source for rocks like we do. There are more beautiful ones than I'll ever be able to polish. :) With your talent for making jewelry, you really should get a rock polisher going!
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