So, you remember how I mentioned Heritage Park is within walking distance of downtown Kirkland? There’s one thing certain to happen when I’m within walking distance of downtown Kirkland: I’ll end up pulled in to Earthlight Gems and Minerals like a planet that’s passed the event horizon of a very large black hole. “You have enough rocks,” I tell myself sternly as my feet turn in that direction. “It’s more fun to find your own in the field,” I protest as I pick up speed. “You’re only going to look this time!” I holler as I’m drawn inexorably in the door.

Sigh.

It wasn’t so bad this time. I went in with a very small wishlist: I’d pick up a piece of corundum if they had an inexpensive one, because after writing “The Real Heart of the Ocean,” I really kinda wanted a bit of my own. And guess what they had?

Yep.

Exactly what I wanted: uncut, unpolished, about as raw as it gets. But utterly beautiful. I mean, look at it from this angle:

Okay. So that’s all right, then. Got me corundum, good to go. It’s just that, y’know, when Jack was alive he always had something interesting in the fossil department, and his daughter Kim’s kept up the tradition, so I stopped by. And I have never in my entire life seen an ammonite I’ve wanted more.

I know, I know, it looks dull. But hematite, people. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one replaced by hematite before. Nicely oxidized, too! And if you flip this little bit of yum over…

How beautiful is that? Hematite and chalcedony, unless I miss my guess on that second bit. You see why it jumped off the shelf and said, “You are taking me home. You have not got a choice in the matter.” It’s tiny, a little smaller than a quarter, but utterly delicious.

Well, there were those two. And I was trying to convince myself to get the hell out of there before it got any worse. But I’d seen some trilobites, and decided I’d pick one up, and I’d just have a quick look round the other minerals to round things out. Why not? And this tiny little epidote crystal sparkled in the dim light of the far shelves, plaintively. “You need to learn your green minerals,” part of me said, whilst another said, “You know Lockwood can probably show you where to get some.”

And I was all like, “He could, yeah, he could do that, but…”

…It’s just when they stare up at you with those deep, glistening crystal faces like that….

And speaking of staring, I went through the container of wee little trilobites with half a mind to give ’em a miss. I’ve got a trilobite, and he’s very nice. But these are adorable pea-sized ones that are completely free of their matrix, and they were dirt cheap, so I figured I’d see if any caught my – holy compound eye, Batman!

Okay, a wee little half-curled up trilobite fossil’s one thing, but a wee little half-curled up trilobite fossil with part of its compound eye preserved – do you really think I could’ve walked out of the store without it?

The best moment was when I showed the clerk. Her face lit up with that glorious glow of awe and wonder, and she whipped out a hand lens with a light, and sucked in her breath in delight. I love it when fossils and rocks do that to people. I love the wonder of this natural world.

So why’s he curled up? It’s a defensive mechanism called enrolment: like pill bugs, trilobites could roll into a tight little ball when in danger. Richard Fortey covers that quite well in his delicious book Trilobite, which I’m feeling inspired to read again.

This little gentleman (or gentlelady – I don’t know how to sex a trilobite, alas) was only half-enroled when disaster struck. Perhaps, like Fortey’s fortuitous trilobites, this one was in the midst of a large group of trilobites entombed in a rapid influx of sediment, whether caused by a storm or some other catastrophe: it was able to partly enrol, able to anticipate danger, but unable to escape. And that suffocating mud preserved it for millions of years, compound eye and all. Then it ends up on some chica’s rock shelf. But at least it’s loved.

Right, one group photo of the new kiddos, and then I’ll stop salivating in public.

Aren’t they precious? And oh, the stories they can tell!