9781422278246

I N T R O D U C T I O N

This lava bridge in the Galapagos Islands formed where molten lava hit the cold ocean; erosion from wave action probably played a role in its shape.

W hen I was eight I was excited by rocks. I could find them everywhere: in my backyard, on the beach, at the edge of a freshwater pond, by the side of the road on my way to school. As I walked, my pockets bulged with new treasures. Each new rock added to my collection was like a gem to me: schist dec- orated by sparkling flecks of mica; “lucky stones”—wave-worn pebbles completely encircled by a ring of quartz; gneiss with its swirling, banded patterns like fudge ripple ice cream; smooth, wave-polished, brightly colored granite (especially colorful when licked); rocks that looked like chunks of chocolate; rocks I could bend and see through; rocks that tasted salty and could melt the ice on my front steps; smooth, flat, layered rocks that I could skip across the pond; rocks that sparked and smelled like a match when I hit them together; rocks that could scratch glass; and rocks that I could crumble to bits with my bare hands. Everywhere I went I saw how we used rocks: the salt-and-pepper-colored granite curbstones that edgedmy street, the white marble gravel in the driveway of my grandmother’s neighbor, the smoothly polished, swirling green serpentine marble counter at the bank, the sparkling diamonds and shining gold in my grandmother’s ring, and the carved alabaster cameo brooch she wore to church. When I looked closely at the concrete sidewalk, I saw that it was made out of sand: finely ground rocks. My grandfather even fed rocks (grit) to his parakeet to help it digest its birdseed. The chalkboard at school was slate, and even the chalk my teacher used to write with was a rock. It was made out of the

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