I often found beautiful polished stones of every different color. I thought I was just lucky.
At my cousin’s wedding, when I was about 28 years old, he mentioned,
“All those times Grandma would sneak off to the lake before sunrise and plant those polished stones… I never understood why she went to so much trouble.”
I blinked.
“Wait—what do you mean she planted them?”
He looked confused. “You didn’t know? She’d buy them at a rock shop in town, polish them herself, and bury them just deep enough for you to find. She said it made you feel like a treasure hunter. Said she never saw you smile so big.”
I stood there, stunned.
All those magical days by the lake — I thought the world had hidden treasures just waiting for me. Turns out, it was Grandma who made the world magical.
I still have those rocks in a jar on my bookshelf. But now, they shine even brighter — not just because of their colors, but because of the love she buried with each one.
