Skip to main content

ODE to Gemology

G. Robert Crowningshield
For over 60 years students of Gemology have struggled with spectrums; bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochrosim. The following sonnet is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, a glow to your heart, and a simple reminder that students of life and gemology re-discover natures gifts all over again, every day.

The following is reprinted with very minor edits from The Loupe, vol. V, No.2, Mar-Apr, 1953 p. 3.


Dedicated to G. Robert Crowningshield, Bert Krashes, & Bill Jean

ODE to Gemology
By a GIA On-Campus Student 

Dispersion, fire, aventurescence,
Orient, sheen, or iridescence—
Refractive index—high or low—
The luster should indicate that, you know.
Polarization—double or single—
What to do now! They intermingle!
Pleochroic colors you really should see;
Was that only two, or actually three?
Birefringence should help you a lot—
Use your polarizer, and watch the spot.
Now did it jump most, on low or on high?
Sure you can get it; if you really try.
Your liquids should be an aid, I think.
Does it float, suspend, or slowly sink?
Just use your imagination now—
(He doesn’t see me wiping my brow!)
Solid inclusions, or only bubbles?
Huh! They brush right off! I still got troubles—
Look for crystals and fingerprints—
Are the striae straight or are they bent?
You finally make your indentifications—
“You only missed one! Congratulations!
You’re doing fine! It’s just speed you lack!”
(I feel like using a well-placed tack.)
This scientific approach is tough
And you feel like shouting, “I’ve had enough!”
But, sooner or later, you see the light
And you know that this approach is right.
So to all who have helped us may we humbly say,
“Thank God, we had you to show us the way
To a life that is full of the things that are real—
And the appreciation you’ve taught us to feel
For the things which Nature so graciously gives—
You’ve given us something by which to live.”

“Anomalous”

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

Rediscovering the Magic of Summer . . .

Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities. This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride. We went through our usual pre-flight checklist: Stretched out the morning stiffness. Filled the water bottles. Strapped on the helmets. Checked the tires. Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway. “Well, it looks like we’re not riding today,” Lori said, with the calm acceptance of someone who had already mentally promoted coffee to the day’s main event. “Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.” She gave me that look —the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this? " “Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?” I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gear...

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

The Endless Work of Wisdom

It always makes me smile. The moment people learn I've officially entered what I like to call the Great Un-Working (retirement), they almost immediately ask the same question: “So . . . What do you do now?" I think they're expecting me to say I'm restoring a vintage sports car, hiking the John Muir Trail, or finally becoming fluent in French.   Instead, I tell them: "I live life deliberately." That's usually the point when I get a polite nod, followed by the unmistakable look of someone wondering whether I've simply found a more sophisticated way to say, “I’m becoming a bum.” Apparently, "living deliberately" sounds suspiciously like unemployment, just better branding. The truth is, what living deliberately looks like for me right now is taking time to synthesize a lifetime of experiences into these weekly reflections. It's slowing down long enough to ask what those experiences have taught me, while keeping the door wide open to the poss...