Day 144: Let us today consider the semantics of rock-gathering. If I were to tell you that I went rockhounding, you would be correct in assuming that I had gone in pursuit of precious or semi-precious stones, aesthetically-pleasing mineral specimens or other lithic anomalies deemed worthy of collection. Indeed, I am (or was, at least) a rockhound, but at times, I am also a rock-hunter, implying that I seek out rocks suitable for some purpose or another. The most common of these on my list could be termed "cobbles," football-sized or slightly larger, river-worn and of a particular heft. I use them to hold things up. I use them to hold things down. I use them wherever one might need to have a 20-30 pound rock of no particular artistic merit.
With the sun shining and my second dose of COVID vaccine beginning to course through my body, I went rock-hunting, having used the last of my stash to keep my "Black Lives Matter" sign from blowing over in the wind. Given that Murphy is always on the alert for projects such as these, waiting to throw his monkey-wrench into the works, I only had enough for three sides. And Murphy, a worse prankster than Raven or Coyote, sent the winds from the one unguarded quarter. I pencilled "rocks" on the list for my next foray out. I found five which met the criteria, the most important being that they were only a short distance from the car. All in all, I'd say it was a pretty successful hunt.
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