Page 14 - SparHawk Maine Tourmaline

efficient packing material protecting the gems. Jeff’s tourmaline was born 250 million years ago, deep within the Earth during the age of the di- nosaurs. Over time the tourmaline moved closer to the surface of the Earth through various periods of glaciation and erosion. It’s mind-boggling to think of thousands of gems, almost as fragile as a wine glass, traversing that vast amount of time, intact with so many in such perfect condition.
As Jeff continues to hose down the white clay it simply melts away under the spray of water from the hose. Rivers of white water wash down, washing past the green crystals sitting in this artificial river. I ask Jeff if I could hold some of the white clay. He reaches up, tears off a chunk. Where I separate it, I can see dry white tear marks. It looks like kid’s play clay. The piece he hands me is pure white. In the ground it looks like cream cheese. In my hand it feels more like window putty or like Fimo clay from an art supply store. I squish it in my hand. It’s soft, white and squeezes slowly through my fingers. It coats my hand in pearly white slipperiness. I knead it for a while, comparing it to the sensation of the same type of clay in the Ice Cream Sundae Pocket from the month before. This is dryer, more like kid’s play clay compared to what felt like melting ice cream in the bottom of a water-filled gem pocket. It makes sense though: add water, stir, and the clay liquifies and melts away. Same stuff. This contrast though, informs me about some of what is really happening inside of these gem pockets. I’m fascinated by the stuff. I offer it to the others. No one seems interested. They are all leaning in, watching the crystals come to light - mesmerized. Who could blame them?
The steep slope allows the water to run fast like a river. The water is loosening the binding clay and pocket rubble, the tourmaline caught in the stream is tumbling down, turning, and glinting green. As Jeff had de- scribed to me earlier that morning, the tourmaline was just rolling out of the pocket. A rhythm became apparent. Jeff would hose down for two or three minutes, scooting the loosened material into little islands. Then with bare hands he would scoop whole double handfuls of tourmaline, clean, pristine, clear, brilliant, tourmaline resting on the top of the more opaque pocket rubble... scooping big handfuls into waiting sieves. How much in each handful? There are the crystals that can easily be seen on the surface, then all that were hidden within the pocket rubble - dozens of crystals of every size. Long slender crystals, 2" plus, and shorter, thicker crystals to little flecks of green, many dozens,possibly more than a hundred in every scoop.
As Jeff hosed, every once in a while he would reach down and pull out a single crystal, usually a long, choice specimen. I think it was his reality check because things were moving so swiftly and the crystals really were just rolling out of the pocket. He’d pause, admire, then pass it back. As the
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