Dearest Bonny Jean

All my life I have collected stones. As young girls at Hole in the Wall where Grandpa had a cottage we collected them for Mom.
They were round smooth stones to be painted and used as paperweights.


Then we started mining ‘precious’ stones for ourselves, keeping them in any empty glass jar we could lay our hands on. Pinks, creamy colours, and dusty reds. We spent hours of every school holiday in the stream on the farm digging.


That is also where I first found clay – though I can’t remember how I knew it was usable.
Perhaps Dad came along one day and found it or possibly Craig. Dad used to make clay oxen with it – something he learned to make as a child. I still have some he made.


I collect stones all the time. Weekends at Hole in the wall, holidays in Greece, our honeymoon in Natal, a few days in Dover when a friend swam the channel and recently a walk on the Devon moors. Also every time we visit Phil’s Mum and go anywhere near a pebbly beach.


They catch my eye, call to me and end up at home where Phil frowns


and in mock exasperation asks me where I’m going to put them all!

I just love looking at them. I pick them up and hold them – so solid in my hand. I fill ceramic boxes with special stones. The round grey Hole in the Wall stones I keep in my studio,sometimes using them. They remind me of places, faces… Memories that stretch from Childhood to this very moment.


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