No one can resist a really good stone

Throwing rocks into Silver Lake in Everett is a delightful way to spend a sunny winter weekend.

When cold weather ends, our granddaughter, Kelbi, 2, will introduce her little sister, Peyton, 10 months old, to gravel at our camping spot near Concrete.

Our trailer is surrounded by Kelbi’s precious stones. She spent many a weekend at Lake Tyee, where we introduced her to the woods, lake and frog pond.

What she loves, besides the two-seater garden swing at our little spot of heaven, is the rocks. She fills her pockets, carries them inside and places them lovingly in rows on the wooden porch.

For our summer project, we collected huge stones near the Skagit River and made a front wall to separate our property from a dirt road in the park. Kelbi takes little rocks and balances them on the boulders.

What can be better than rocks piled on rocks?

We took her to the ocean for an overnight trip last August. She wasn’t afraid of the big waves, burying her feet in the moist sand and anxiously picking up any rock she found to toss past the ugly foam that goes in and out with the tide.

In the Ocean Shores gift shop, she selected a handful of pretty stones. Kelbi never lost one as she juggled them in and out of her pocket on the four-hour ride home.

She is like every child I know, fascinated with rocks.

And we don’t grow out of it.

On an overnight trip in Gold Bar with our best friends, Tom and Jackie Williams of Lynnwood, we walked along the Skykomish River at dusk. The stroll became all about who could skip stones the furthest, the most times, the highest.

Finding just the right flat rock was our goal.

“Look at this one,” we screamed to one another. “Watch this.”

We paused to watch each attempt at a new skipping record. Time meant nothing as we marveled at each quick, white splash.

My co-Grammie, Hlynn Savage, of Walla Walla, took Kelbi on a walk in a Lynnwood park when she visited.

“She was fascinated by the rocks,” Hylnn said. “We took a couple of them home.”

Back in Walla Walla, Hlynn was going through boxes and found a small chest that held five white rocks and a shiny brown one that her niece, Paige, collected and gave to her on a camping trip 12 years ago.

“When I was in Texas, one of the first things (grandson) Gehrig wanted to do was go throw rocks off the cliff behind his house. The bigger the rock the happier he was. Of course, he checked for scorpions under each rock before he picked it up.”

She said her son, Miguel, my son-in-law, was definitely a rock thrower.

“Practicing for baseball, I guess,” Hlynn said. “Any time my dad and I stand on a river shore together we end up searching for flat stones we can skip across the water, and the competition is on.”

At our house, we have a big rough and tumble cat, Tony. He won’t be held, doesn’t want to be snuggled, but adores Kelbi.

When she visits, Tony is by her side. He allows her to hang Mardi Gras beads around his neck. She can pet his back as he slurps breakfast, when no one else can touch him.

Outdoors, Kelbi tossed a rock in Tony’s direction. He didn’t flinch, but I told Kelbi that we don’t throw rocks at people or pets. We went deep into the back yard and tossed stones at the back fence and towering cedar trees.

“This,” I said, “is legal rock territory.”

Tony came along, and after our pitching practice, the pair dug holes in the dirt with a little yellow shovel.

If you hear my Chevy Silverado rattling down the street, it’s only the rocks making the noise. Kelbi found great little holes in the hubcaps to store gravel. And this is a child who wants for no outside toys. She has tricycles, Tonka trucks and bubbles.

But it’s the rocks she craves.

In the recent snow, we put on new fake-fur boots, zipped up her heavy sky-blue jacket, tugged on mittens and ventured out. She adored the snow and learned to roll it into balls.

Then my granddaughter spied a bare spot of ground under a bush in the front yard. Sure enough, mixed with beauty bark, she found an assortment of pebbles that called her name.

The child slipped off her clunky gloves, selected pebbles and chucked rocks.

Just a typical kid, who wants play time set in stone.

Columnist Kristi O’Harran: 425-339-3451 or oharran@heraldnet.com.