My grandchildren know that when they go creekin’ with me, we always look for rock hearts. We rarely find them, but it’s a fun thing to do together. When we find one, it’s a big deal. Throughout the years, I’ve learned that many outdoor lovers look for hearts in nature – from rocks to clouds to trees to leaves to puddles.
I belong to the Facebook group called “Hearts in Rocks and Nature Around the World,” and it’s quite interesting (and soothing) to see what people have found while outdoors. There are more than 77,000 members, so you can imagine the posts you’ll see. Below, I’ve described my heart discoveries.
I found a tiny heart rock, once, in Valdez, Alaska, down by a stream. We had ventured off our cruise ship on UTV tours in the mountains. I looked down at the creek and immediately found a small rock. It warmed my heart to see it, especially amidst the grandeur of the mountains, waterfalls and streams. I brought it home.
On another creek, in Tahoe City, California, my granddaughters and I went creekin’ and rock hunting. One of them found a rather chunky heart, and gave it to me. I cherish that one. I keep it in my special rock basket outdoors under an awning, near the museum of bones that we’ve collected.
Another granddaughter, creekin’ with me here in the Ozarks, gave up looking for a rock heart, and picked up two rocks. She used one rock to scratch out a heart on another rock, and handed her art to me, and said, “Here’s your heart!”
A poignant heart-shaped rock appeared when my sister and I buried the ash boxes from my parents’ cremations on a special place here on our property a few years ago. Nestled in a grove of cedar trees on a hillside, with a creek running below and an old cabin in ruins nearby, my parents’ transportation boxes have been tucked deep into the earth. At one time, the lady of the cabin (probably in the early 1900s) planted daffodils, and every spring hundreds of them appear and spread out like a luxurious yellow carpet on the forest floor. Maybe someday, they’ll spread over the ground where my parents’ repositories are buried.
After we buried their boxes, I took a monument stone that I received after their death from my friends, which had broken from the elements, and put it on top of the burial spot, and then looked around and noticed a big, fat heart-shaped rock. My parents used to love to visit the Ozarks, and get out and about. I think they’d especially like this site in the springtime, when it’s ringed in pristine dogwood trees. It’s feels pure there, and now there’s a heart to mark the spot.
Another time, as I practiced shooting my camera in the woods, I found a heart-shaped burl on a tree. You can find these rounded humps frequently on hardwoods. Stress supposedly causes burls, burrs or burr knots to form. And I like that idea – from stress comes a thing of beauty.
In fact, one time I bought a burl bowl made of maple, and in the middle of it, as the woodworker fashioned it into a bowl, a lovely depiction of a woman appeared. And to me, this signified love – from nature to the woodworker.
Always check the seaside. If you’re looking for sea glass, as we did on the Isle of Skye in Scotland, you’ll usually see little exquisite rocks and often, they’ve been crafted by water, sand and other rocks into heart shapes.
Over at Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Rock House, in Mansfield, Missouri, you can see a heart-shaped rock on the back wall of the garage. A tour guide pointed it out to us, and we braved the chiggers and ticks to get back there and take a look. It heartens me to see that a stonemason took the time and trouble to outline, or tuck, the rock for emphasis.
So, if you’re wondering what to do this Valentine’s Day or what to give someone, you might just find something in nature while you’re out with him or her. Keep looking for hearts.
Publisher/Editor Barbara Baird is a freelance writer in hunting, shooting and outdoor markets. Her bylines are found at several top hunting and shooting publications. She also is a travel writer, and you can follow her at https://www.ozarkian.com. View all posts by Barbara Baird
