Somewhere between my first attempt at landscaping a new home at 24 years old and landscaping our second home at 29, I have become obsessed with the idea of having rocks in our yard. I’m not talking river rock instead of mulch, I’m talking semi-large boulders strategically dropped throughout the plants, haphazardly placed in order to look like I haven’t thought about where they would go for hours on end, but instead just landed there while I was digging my flowerbeds.
Somehow, I’ve gone from a young, bright-eyed and naive gardener to a crazed woman, looking for rocks while on road trips and making T pull over when I see a ‘good one’ in the middle of a field. What happened to me?
Throughout my quest of finding the perfect landscaping additions, T has vocally opposed any request of mine to steal a rock at any time….something about traumatic childhood road trips spent driving for hours on end with his knees in his chin because of the rocks under his feet, blah, blah, blah…
While leaving the Ren-Fest a few weeks ago, we stumbled upon the the most glorious pile of rocks these baby blues have ever laid their eyes on. And these beauties were right in front of our parked car, so basically, the Universe was making me take these rocks home. My eyes lit up and I was able to talk T into stealing a few for me. After I had picked the 2-3 best rocks in the pile, I was ready to leave with my new-found treasures. T on the other hand was not.
Somewhere in the last 5 years, T transformed from a hater of the most perfect, rock-filled landscaping to a rock-hauling beast that just won’t stop. He proceeded to load damn near every rock into the car from the pile, not stopping until we were convinced that our car would be scraping the cement on the way home.
After settling in for the ride home, we both made a realization…we have turned into those people that we couldn’t stand on childhood road trips, making us stop to gather rocks from all over the country. We’ve turned into our mothers.