For as long as I can remember, the city where I live has hosted an annual art fair. Not an arts and crafts show but an actual fair. I grew up not far from where I now live. The art fair was always a nice way to spend a Saturday in September. There were food tents, live entertainment, and plenty of art to look at or buy, depending on how much cash was in my pocket.
Over the years we've watched it grow. We've established bonds with some of the artists from whom we've made purchases. The one thing we've yet to do as residents is volunteer for a shift of asking for donations, handing out programs, or working the information booth. However, this isn't to say we haven't left an imprint in the event because we have. At least my daughters have.
Just before the pandemic shut the festival down for a year, my daughters got into the habit of painting stones. They are both very talented artists but shy away from any accolades. Daughter Number One is going into engineering. Daughter Number Two is leaning towards nursing. My wife and I are both educators, although I retired in 2017 missing the pandemic fiasco of online classroom teaching. We dissuaded our children from following in our footsteps.
A couple of weeks before the fair, they would collect rocks from tree islands in parking lots or along the rails-to-trails trail. The stones were flat, gray or white or sometimes a dusty blue. They would paint an image on one side and on the other some affirmation. They weren't classic affirmations like 'Do unto others...yada yada yada...' Or, 'A penny saved is a penny earned. Nope. Nothing like that.
Instead, they left messages like, 'Beware of Santa Rhebus!' or 'If you take this rock, I'll know...' or 'Surprise! You found a painted rock. Take it to the River Bank for a free experience.' (Note: These were ones I suggested. They came up with similar ones on their own.)
The art fair runs from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon. Thursday night the park where it's held is full of people putting up tents, directing artists to their spaces, or driving golf carts back and forth.
This was the time my daughters chose to plant their stones. Forty-eight hours later they went back to the park to see how many stones were left. Sometimes they would actually see someone find one of the rocks during the fair. The finder would look around and if no one was looking, drop the stone in a bag or slip it in a pocket or hold onto it.
The novelty lasted for three years. Daughter Number One is a full-time college student living on campus and Daughter Number Two is about to enter her last year of high school and spends her time either working or studying at the library. When I stopped driving, she got the van. Nothing like having wheels.
I can only imagine where their painted rocks ended up. Maybe someone else has a pewter ice bucket full of story stones. Perhaps they were given as gifts or sit on someone's desk as a paperweight. I think they did a dozen stones a year for three years. Somewhere someone has one. To them, I say, "You're Welcome! Flip stone for more information."
The message, of course, repeats on the flip side.
STUMPSTONE QUOTE OF THE DAY:
“A great sculpture can roll down a hill without breaking.”
— Michelangelo
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