The Shy Obsidian

We really enjoyed Hokkaido.

Monkichi-san knew so much.

That's what the kids said in the car on the way home.

Hearing those words, I was a little surprised.

Because throughout the day, the kids had been getting worn out.

Searching for obsidian.

Walking along the river, crouching down, searching, and walking again.

My kids love video games.

I wondered if they would enjoy it.

I was a little worried.

But it seems the kids really enjoyed Hokkaido.

And the reason for that wasn't the obsidian.
It was Monkichi-san.

Our family came to Hokkaido to search for obsidian.

And we came to meet the Monkichi-san we had admired so much.

Countless stones were scattered along the riverbank.

To be honest, at first, I had no idea which ones were obsidian.

There are as many stones as there are stars.

However, Monkichi-san is different.

"Oh, there's one."

Saying that, he finds obsidian as naturally and smoothly as if it were nothing.

Although our family was a little nervous meeting him for the first time, Monkichi-san's voice was strangely gentle.

It was as soft as sheep's wool, yet every time he found a stone, his voice would turn into that of a young boy.

Drawn in by that voice, we too began to search for stones with enthusiasm.

The children also brought back stones that caught their interest.

Of course, they weren't always obsidian.

I had fully expected him to say,

"That's not it."

But that wasn't the case.

It was different.

"You found an interesting one."

That's what Monkichi-san said.

And then, he carefully explained how that stone was formed and what its characteristics were.

At that moment, I felt a little embarrassed.

I thought I knew. Because in the past, I only looked at stones illuminated by the lights of jewelry stores.

But listening to Monkichi-san's stories, it was different.

Stones have a resume.

Volcanic activity.

The time spent being carried by the river.

There was a history where the land of Hokkaido itself had created them.

The 'stones' I had lumped together all had their own stories, their own thick resumes.

And what's more, resumes much longer than mine.

I'm just a single sheet of paper.

But the stones in front of me are different.

They are here, carrying tens of thousands of years of history. Like they're saying, 'Long time no see, Sun!'

My world suddenly became interesting.

It's like when you get a new lens.

I can see things I couldn't see before.

The resolution of the world increases.

That was the feeling.

While we were looking for obsidian, Monkichi-san suddenly said,

'Nature is interesting, isn't it?'

Surely, there are many people who would say just that.

But when Monkichi-san says it, it's different.

Because the person enjoying nature the most right there was Monkichi-san himself.

His eyes light up every time he finds a stone.

He is genuinely interested even in the stones that children bring.

Instead of teaching what we don't know, we enjoy it together.

Our family didn't study nature or stones; we were shown 'how to enjoy nature'.

That is why the children's words made me happy.

'We fully enjoyed Hokkaido.'

'Monkichi-san knew so much.'

They will surely forget the names of the stones on their resumes. But perhaps that is fine.

Because what we brought home that day was not knowledge, but
a way to play with curiosity.

While we were looking for obsidian, Monkichi-san found a stone peeking out slightly from the soil and said,

'Oh, this is a shy Tokachi stone.'

I cannot forget those words.

A person who finds personality in stones.

A person who finds the world interesting.

Soon after we met, Monkichi-san
gave me an obsidian stone that he had polished himself as a gift.

When held up to the light, it was glossy and beautiful enough on its own.

And yet, it is strange. The obsidian I saw on the way home looked even more beautiful.

I cannot put it into words well.

It is not just a feeling of 'pretty'.

It was a beauty that was slightly bewitching, slightly mysterious, and like a treasure chest that had locked away tens of thousands of years of time.

And I thought of Monkichi-san's hands, which had spent dozens of hours polishing that rugged obsidian until it was round and shining.

The obsidian I received from Monkichi-san has not changed at all.

It is I who have changed.

Perhaps the greatest treasure I found in Hokkaido this time was not the obsidian.

It is difficult to express this in beautiful words. But I want to convey at least this much. Thank you very much.