What She Finds

When we walk by the river, we look for treasure.

I've called it that for a long time.

River glass is always a good find. So are empty snail shells, the tiny clam shells we find along rivers and lakes, little pieces of driftwood, unusual rocks, seed pods, twigs, feathers, and whatever else catches our attention along the way.

I've intentionally made looking part of our walks.

We don't just walk beside the water. We look down. We look between the rocks. We check along the edge where the water has left things behind. We turn things over. We pick things up.

And somewhere along the way, she learned to look too.

Now there are things she spots before I do.

She has become particularly good at finding river glass. I'll still be scanning the ground and she'll already be crouched down, holding up a little worn piece between her fingers.

Some pieces are barely bigger than a fingernail.

She sees them anyway.

Shells get the same reaction. A tiny snail shell tucked between the rocks can stop the whole walk. So can one of those little clam shells scattered along the shoreline. We pick them up, look at the shape and color, and usually decide at least a few are coming home with us.

Other days the treasure is a stick.

Or a piece of driftwood.

Or a butterfly wing.

It doesn't necessarily have to be rare or even particularly unusual. If something interests her, we stop and look at it.

Usually, quite a bit comes home with us.

That's part of it too.

We empty our pockets and bags when we get home and spread everything out. We sort through what we found. We decide what we want to keep. River glass gets added to the rest of our collection. Shells find their way into little bowls and jars. Interesting pieces of wood, stones, seed pods, and whatever else we carried home get set aside because we might use them for a craft later.

Some of our finds become part of something.

Some sit around for a while.

Some eventually make their way back outside.

I like that there isn't much pressure attached to any of it.

We're not trying to find a certain number of things. There isn't a list to finish before we leave. I don't need her to know the name of everything she picks up.

We're just looking.

But I've started noticing how differently she looks now.

She knows there might be something worth finding in a stretch of riverbank that, from a distance, looks like nothing more than rocks and broken shells.

So she slows down.

She searches.

She brings me things for inspection.

Sometimes I know exactly why she chose them.

Sometimes I'm holding a completely ordinary twig wondering what I am supposed to be seeing.

And I love that.

Because I've taught her to look, but I don't get to decide what she sees.

That part belongs entirely to her.

Today it might be a perfect piece of river glass.

Tomorrow it might be a tiny shell or a very good stick.

Either way, we'll probably bring it home.

One treasure at a time.