More photographs from the archives, these from around 2007. Almost six years ago, my god.
I had the most wonderful rock and mineral collection when I was a child. My uncle became a geologist, and somehow, out of all children in our vast vast family, his collection from childhood made its way into my hands. A dusty cigar box full of specimens collected since the 60s. With it my parents gifted me with a beautiful field guide, and to this day, I love perusing the field guides in bookstores, flipping the pages near my face and breathing the smell in deeply. I wonder what it is about the paper that they use that smells completely unique. Whenever we passed by rock shops, my parents would stop so that I could add new rocks to the box. I remember stopping at a shop in Hatch, Utah, where an old bearded man with a round belly (my mind may or may not be implying the suspenders I see), who was hardly moved when we excitedly told him our last name, stood indifferently behind the counter. When I was a teenager, I decided that I was too cool for my rock collection, along with the extensive postcard and decorative spoon collection that were accumulated through my dad's world travels. Oh, those horrid lost years when we decide that we're everything but ourselves.
These beautiful specimens are housed in the Harvard Natural History Museum.