The Travelling Rock Show

I thought I’d post something different today: a photo of our patio where we sit out during the day and have our meal in the evening.  If you’re wondering why everything is so utilitarian, it’s because it can’t be eaten or chewed by our four dogs. We do have a very nice table setting of cane – a round table and four chairs, but that’s in the small verandah beside my study where I can keep an eye on the dogs and make sure they are not chewing it, as they find the cane irresistible!

The large rock on the table has travelled with us from Scotland, to England, to Australia (where we moved home four times) to North Cyprus. My daughter came across it by accident when she was on her friend’s farm one day and decided it was right up my alley as a lover of stones and rocks of all kinds – it’s sea-quartz with a lovely inset of what looks like rose quartz.

We took this rock with us when we moved from Scotland in 2003 to live in Colne, Lancashire. Then we decided to return to the UK but there was the question of the rock. I wanted to take it with me because it was a gift from my daughter, but I pretty much guessed that my husband would have a nervous breakdown as this rock is big and seriously heavy. I handle the travel bookings and house hunting when we move, while Bryan is a whizz at packing. So, as he was busy sorting out boxes, I sat on the sofa with the Rock on my lap and tried to look winsome, appealing and slightly pathetic.   Our conversation went thus:

He: Why have you got that weird look on your face?

Me: It’s not weird, I just love this rock as Dee gave it to me, it feels good.

He (looking revolted): Please don’t tell me you want to lug that heap of old rubbish back to Australia with us?

Me: I want to lug this rock back to Australia with us. And it’s not a heap of old rubbish.

He: You must be stark, raving, loony mad.

Me: No, I’m not. Dee gave it to me, it has sentimental value for me.

He: I have one box left. If the rock fits into it we’ll take it.

Seizing rock, husband exits to boxes piled up in our living room, where I hear a curse:

He: Damn, the rock fits into the box. That means we’ll have to take the rock with us.

Me: Dee will be pleased.

He: Dee’s a nutty about rocks as you are.

End of conversation. Rock: 1, Husband 0.

So this – to me – beautiful rock has now resided in Scotland, England, Pingelly (Western Australia), Woodenbong (northern New South Wales), Traralgon (Victoria), Bowraville (mid-north coast, New South Wales) and now is at rest in Alsancak, North Cyprus, where it has a view (somewhat limited) of the Mediterranean, glimpses of the Turkish coastline when occasionally it  appears on the horizon in certain atmospheric conditions, and lovely views of the spectacular sunsets across the paddock beside us to the west.

I love the fact that a shaft of setting sun hit the rock as I was taking this photo – I’m sure the rock preened itself and is now sending out cyber-hugs to all reading this post!

Patio at sunset

7 thoughts on “The Travelling Rock Show

    1. Bryan often talks wistfully of digging a dirty great hole to bury my rock collection, and I sweetly assure him that he can, as long as I can tastefully arrange all his model railway gear on top of the rocks before he fills in the hole. So far, I still have my rock collection!


  1. You’re making me feel lucky! My Bob is the family rock collector (and household packer and truck loader). He has one rock we’ve been carting around that’s more than 12 inches (30 centimeters) or so in diameter and weighs kind of a lot. I can’t budge it. He has several that are as large as your quartz. So he packs and carries my 1,200 books and their numerous bookshelves without complaint!


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