Hanging Stones

After returning from a field trip to the ruins at Madame Sherrie’s, a special needs student approached me in the BAMS office and announced that he had found one of my hanging stones while on his hike. I questioned him as to how he could be so sure. He replied, “It was a stone about the size of my hand. It had a bead on top and a small coil of [copper} wire on the side. Yeah, and a feather. That’s your signature!”

For the past 6-8 years, I have been leaving my Rock River Stones as evidence of my wandering. With a few minor variations thrown in to satisfy momentary urges, the student was right about the design. I have always thought the Rock River in Williamsville to have a unique and diverse selection of stones. I selected several that appealed to me and made sculptures to hang in the trees in my yard. Soon after, I made smaller, more portable, versions which I began to take with me when I was hiking.

I suppose that leaving the stones is a little like geo-caching, but the stones are not hidden. I select trails that I particularly enjoy and, believe it or not, take considerable time in selecting just the right spot to actually hang the stone. I like a stone with a view! Later on, I extended the activity and starting carrying stones with me on trips Anne and I took. The process seems to take on a life of its own. So much so that I have hung close to 90 stones so far in 12 states and 10 different countries.

One of the first places I chose to hang a stone was at Kilburn Pond in NH. The area around the pond is gorgeous, and I had chosen a swimming area with a huge boulder and a large evergreen whose low hanging branches hung near the water. It was actually somewhat weird. I was selecting the exact spot to place the stone and suddenly realized that there was already something hanging in the spot I was looking at. It was a small set of oriental bells. I did an exchange ( the bells are still hanging next to the Rock River in my yard). About two weeks later I went back to the spot. My stone was gone and in its place was a small star sculpture. I hung another stone beside it. Another two weeks passed and I went back. This time both sculptures had disappeared. I still wonder “who” to this day.

The question arises as to why. I think about who might happen upon my stone. What would they think? Would they be surprised … offended … curious? The note on the stone invites them to move it if they wish. Would they take it down to take home … to move to another spot … to throw away … or leave it for others to find? I imagine all kinds of reactions. I imagine all kinds of people that might happen along. It is a fantasy thing for me. Hunkering down with a good fantasy has always been comfortable for me.

It’s not all about fantasy and wondering. I got a letter from a man in Hinsdale, NH, who found a stone atop Mt. Wantasticutt. He indicated that he goes there to commune with God and nature and the stone interfered with his peaceful meditation. He took the stone away. I wanted to ask if the radio tower close by interfered as well. Another letter from a man in Hinsdale indicated that he found a stone in his son’s room. His son had found the stone in Pisquah Forest and had relocated it to his room. His plan was to keep the stone to remind him of his son at college.

Anne and I often go to Ogunquit, ME and walk the Marginal Way overlooking the ocean. I have hung stones there on two separate occasions. A teacher at school told me he had been walking there as well, and that he and his daughter saw the stone and recognized it to me mine. On other occasions, he and his track team members added new feathers to the sculpture. I received a letter from a group of women vacationing nearby. They found a stone, took pictures of it, and mailed me a thank-you note for the experience. An artist from southern Maine wrote me that he had seen the stone and might drop by my house sometime to visit my studio. Yet another letter announced that the stone had been found' and it was killing the trees' and what if everyone hung stuff like that, and that I should never do it again. It was signed “The People of Ogunquit”.

While in the area Anne and I visited Mount Agamenticus, and I hung a stone on one of the trails near the summit. I received a letter about a year later. A park ranger had found the stone. It was a really nice note explaining the “nothing left behind” protocol for state parks. The letter indicated that the stone had been moved to a display area. I gather it is being used as an example of what not to do. I can never go back there … the shame … the shame.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I continue to ignore the volumes of hate mail and just keep hanging those demonic stones. One made it to the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Two were hung in the gardens in front of The Blue Mosque in Istanbul. Tucked back on an isolated trail in the Madame Sun Yat Sen Gardens is one. They are in Brussels, Montreal, Madrid, Toledo (Spain), Venice, Florence, Shanghai and Quito. I gifted one to Erkon, the carpet salesman from whom we purchased our rugs in Istanbul. In each of my three homestays in China, hanging stones were part of my gift exchange. I asked a wonderful man who took us to visit the indigenous childrens’ pre-school program outside Lasso, Ecuador to accept one to hang at his organic farm. And in April, who knows … there just might be stones in London or Wales or Iceland.