I Want to be an Eccentric Scientist When I Grow up

When I was young--when I first learned about magma and subduction zones and the tectonics that inch-by-inch rend our continents into new shapes--I wanted to be a geologist.  My fascination led to the gradual acquisition of a rock collection.  Some purchased, some picked up on the sidewalk, and some given to me by my eccentric but wonderful Uncle Roger out in California. I learned words like "sedentary" and "igneous" and "metamorphic."


Crack-your-own geodes were a favorite gift at Christmas.  I remember stuffing the bland, baseball-sized rocks into old socks and (with daddy's supervision, of course) smashing the cotton-covered lumps with a large hammer.  Ta da!  Treasures!  The spheres cracked open to reveal fantastical miniature landscapes of crystal caverns.

My recent volunteer work at the Porter House Museum (the website has beautiful photography, though is still under construction) has inspired me to unearth (no pun intended?) my collection from the depths of basement storage.  Adelbert Porter, the man for whom the house is named, was a naturalist and collector.  Butterflies were his passion, but rocks were also a specialty, leading to a six-year project to construct possibly the most unique wall ever to circle a property.  The house is filled with drawers and cabinets crowded with diverse collected objects--rocks, taxidermy, South American beaded necklaces, Chinese foot-binding shoes, sea coral, glass vials containing unidentifiable objects.

In an attempt to create my own cabinet of eccentricities, I divided up my rock collection into the drawers of an antique, small library card catalog for which I'd yet to find a purpose.  My new succulent garden (still living, despite several weeks in my care) in quirky glass containers completes the vignette.