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.

Comments

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

Engineering Beef Stew

On July 2nd—Day Two of what I call The Great Un-Working —I sat down with my morning notebook to map out this new chapter of my life. One goal made the list in bold ink: Learn to Cook. At seventy, I was adding a skill most people master before they’re old enough to drive. Before you judge me, understand our household ecosystem. Lori is a phenomenal cook. For decades, she’s made meals so effortless and delicious that restaurants seem unsatisfying . My contribution to the culinary arts during my bachelor years–tuna mixed into Kraft Mac & Cheese. Let’s just say I wasn’t threatening her spot on the Food Network. But retirement changed the equation. I’m officially off the clock while Lori is still working. And I had a lovely thought: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she came home after a long day to find dinner waiting? She loved the idea. Then came the question that haunted me for weeks: “What do you want to make?” I had no idea. Apparently, the first step in learning to cook is deciding wh...

When the Universe Calls in Sick

Take Thoreau’s Advice . . . Four weeks ago, we stood on the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, trying to channel Henry David Thoreau. Before leaving, I bought a pocket-sized copy of his essay, Walking . It’s slim because nineteenth-century transcendentalists didn’t have notifications interrupting their urge to wander. Thoreau’s counsel is disarmingly simple: step away from modern life's machinery and let the landscape recalibrate your perspective. Back home in Vista, I took that philosophy straight into the backyard. Thursday morning, ink-black, pristine skies arrived. I aimed my refractor at Jupiter, whose light has bathed Earth since mastodons roamed the plains. It felt cosmic. Profound . I left the telescope mounted overnight, convinced the heavens were on retainer for an encore at daybreak. Naturally, the universe called in sick. By sunrise, a wall of coastal fog had rolled in off the Pacific, sealing the valleys beneath a damp, gray Tupperware lid. After about th...

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On The Fly

Search This Blog