Rockhounds

This past Thanksgiving we all went to the Gem and Mineral Show at the State Museum. This was a no-brainer, as for months Milo had been expressing an interest in rocks. He initiated at school his own study of different kinds of rocks, he often spent recess wandering around the playground looking for rocks, and he would fill random spaces around our house with--you guessed it--rocks.

His dream was to visit a mine or quarry and do some excavating himself.

At the show we learned about the Columbia Gem and Mineral Society, got a membership (courtesy of Grandma and Grandpa), and last month the boys and I went to our first meeting. The boys were the only people at the meeting younger than me, and as a result they were treated very kindly by the "rockhounds" there, receiving sample rocks, gems, and minerals to take home with them. We also learned about some upcoming field trips.

Today a dream came true, as us males in the Weinberg family took one of those trips and went a'mining. Hi Ho! It was about a 2 and a half hour trip west to the Diamond Hill Quartz Mine in Antreville, SC (population: 114). Don't let the clever name fool you--there are no diamonds to be found there.



The boys had a blast. Huge pits and mounds of rocky dirt and mud make for an awesome playground, and when you add in a bit of treasure hunting and full authorization to hit stuff with hammers, well, what more could a boy age 4 or 6 want?



I should note that the boy's mining outfits were largely supplied by relatives: vests courtesy of Grammy and Oompoppa, camo pants from Grandma and Grandpa, and bright orange Moxie t-shirts from Uncle Frank.



We hauled home buckets of rocks: mostly varieties of quartz, perhaps some amethyst, some mica chips, and a bunch of unknowns. It is hard to tell, since everything is still covered with red clay mud. (At one point Milo was using the mud as play-dough, and brought a small ball of that home, too. In an attempt to get his mother to allow him to bring it into the house he actually said that it was not dirty. "Milo, it is made from dirt. It is the definition of dirty." Can't blame a kid for trying.)

The fun included hide and seek with a 9-year-old boy Calder (Mr. Social) befriended, a picnic lunch at the edge of one of the pits, and gifts of polished quartz and calcite for the boys from one of the other rockhounds at the site. All in all a good day. I suspect we'll be doing this again.

P.S. Milo read an entire Magic Treehouse book to himself (#41) during the rides there and back; I love that he loves to read.