Over 25 years ago Sherry and I moved from Madison, Wisconsin, to Carson City, Nevada. We didn’t have much, a few bucks and a new company. We bought a 1963 Oldsmobile Delta for 100 dollars to get around.

We purchased a tiny house south of town, but the big hill behind the house oozed mud our way every time it rained. We had a solution. For two years we drove our Delta around a hundred-mile perimeter looking for large boulders we believed were beautiful and we transported them from their creek and mountainside settings to our backyard to shore up the mud hill invading our property. Sherry and I rolled the big boulders toward our car, and together, with bruised and bloodied hands, hoisted them up into the back seat of our Oldsmobile and headed home.

Strangers looked at our back yard in 1991 and saw a bunch of rocks on a hillside. Sherry and I saw boulder heaven.

Time passed. The company grew. We moved to a bigger house.

Last week I felt a pang deep inside. I traveled back to our tiny home and knocked on the door. “Can I buy a few of those rocks in your backyard,” I inquired. I flunked out of a negotiations course a few years ago. As proof, I purchased eight of our precious boulders for $1,000 and had friends help me move them to our current property.

Sherry came home and spotted the boulders along our drive.

She teared up.

Rocks and love count the most.