Rocks, hey, got any rocks?

I have a love affair with rocks and stones and yes I know it's strange. I don't know why I love rocks, I just do. It started many years ago while walking on the beaches of Cape Cod. I noticed that when the stones along the shoreline were dry they were very nondescript but when wet they were beautiful colors. Green, purple, red, gold, silver, white, gray all different shades.

Now in my yard I have not stones but rocks and boulders. I've run out of room to put more. In the part of town I live in there are big rocks just waiting to be unearthed. When our house was being built many were dug up and carted away but the builder kept some and put them along the back of the yard. The original homeowners didn't do much with the backyard, only planted grass about a third of the way back.

When I found these rocks overgrown with weeds, I had to have them as part of the yard.
These rocks, well, they belonged to my neighbor but their house was foreclosed on and vacant for a while. The rocks were calling to me and needed to be in my yard where they would be loved.
This is in our backyard and the garden. I, me, alone, all by myself, picked these rocks out of the dirt in a subdivision being built about 5 miles from us. I made lots of trips carting these home and broke lots of fingernails. Once home I had to wash the dirt off which in turn made a muddy mess in the grass. Then just little old me built the rock wall.


About 10 years ago the gas main had to be replaced on our street. Of course that meant digging it up plus new sidewalks. Guess what they found? More boulders! At the time both my husband and I worked for the gas and electric company and knew the crew. I talked the guys into placing 12 of the rocks along the property line on the side.
I don't know what kind of rocks these are. They have holes and tunnels in them and look prehistoric to me. I call them dinosaur rocks. I've planted hens and chickens in some of the holes.
Not all of them are boulders. Some are smaller. This rock has several monikers. Depending on who you're asking it's called the Jabba the Hut rock, I call it the happy rock. Can you see the smiling face. Come on, look harder!
Look closely at this rock in the garden. Do you see anything?

Surprise!

My 10 yr old nephew calls this rock the toad mansion.


I once had an elderly neighbor that I looked after. She was from Nova Scotia and used to go back to visit quite frequently. She also loved rocks and would always bring some home with her. The custom agents would kid her and ask if she was smuggling Canada into the states one rock at a time. When she went into a nursing home she gave me her most favorite and prettiest rock as she knew we were kindred spirits. When she died I knew that that rock had to be with her. By now you must think I have rocks in my head but I took it to the funeral home and asked that it be placed with her. The funeral director told me that wasn't the strangest request he's ever had.