Ode' To Gemology

For over 80 years, students of gemology have struggled with spectrums, bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochroism. 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 rediscover nature's gifts every day.

Ode to Gemology, by a GIA on-campus student.

Dispersion, fire, adventurescence.

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 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’ve still got troubles.

Look for crystals and fingerprints.

Are the striae straight, or are they bent?

You finally make your identifications.

You only missed one! Congratulations.

You're doing fine. It's just speed you lack.

I feel like using a well-placed tack!

The 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 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.

This Saturday, April 25th, GIA will host the 20th and final

Sinkankas Symposium. As a tribute to Richard Liddicoat, G. Robert Crowningshield, Eunice Miles, and the many mentors who built the foundation of our field, I did a little digging.

That sonnet wasn't written yesterday. I found it buried in the archives of The Loupe, volume 5, from March of 1953. Penned by an unnamed New York on-campus student, it sounds exactly like so many students I’ve seen over the decades—just trying to make sense of the stones in front of them.

It proves that the beautiful, frustrating, awe-inspiring journey of a gemology student hasn't changed a bit. We all still end up looking for that light.

This is On the Fly. I'm Patrick Ball. Stay curious, ask questions. See you next time.

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