I remember skipping stones in Westline, Pa., a town where my father was born- in his house. The area is filled with beautiful streams, trout, and raw air aloft for its inhabitants. We would go there many weekends during my younger years, to help my grandparents with outdoor chores, then go fishing at the end of the day as a treat. And we skipped stones across ponds and streams. I remember the effort made to find the perfect rock. It took a little bit of time and patience to find the right shape and feel to determine which one would skip and slither best. Yes, it had to be flat, but in clinching its surface, smooth feel, was there comfort in it to be found. Once you felt you had the best rock, all that was left to do was give it the right hurl. You didn’t want to waste a stellar rock on a hasty toss. And when the rock was right, and the throw controlled and natural, time stood still, as bounces of joy found its potential in crossing to the other side. All that is important now, years later, is to keep looking for the right rock.
for a loved friend and mentor to many, Rick Ohler
skipping stones 