Uncle Jule, my grandmother’s brother, had a large neat pile of river stones in his front yard. I never knew why. I guessed they were for Aunt Eula’s flower garden. The stones were marble-size, just right for slingshot use. I didn’t have a Slingshot—butI had a dramatic imagination. Uncle Jule’s house was not fun—I learned that on this, my first visit to his house.
Upon arriving at their house in Oconee, GA, I went to Aunt Eula for her mandatory hug—reeking of Max Factor Primitif,—then I ran down the steps from the front porch—to that enticing pile of shiny stones! This pile of stones towered almost as high as the white picket fence surrounding their front yard, I stepped onto the rock-pile. Through a cloud of Prince Albert pipe tobacco smoke, Uncle Jule yelled at me—Boy! get off them rocks! You’re gonna scatter ’em all over the yard!” Chagrined, disappointed, and scared, I slunk back to the front porch. Until years later, when his house burned to the ground (that’s another story) those stones remained untouched in his front yard.
A pile of stones is heavy. Some heavier than others. Some piles of stone have heavier meaning. I never knew the meaning of Uncle Jule’s pile of stones. I’ve often wondered what vision bound him to that never-to-be-touched-pile of stones, Those stones did not just suddenly appear. They were chosen, placed in a pile, and curated for years; they were as precious to Uncle Jule as that Civil War Enfield, single-shot, muzzle-loading rifle hanging over the fireplace in their living room.
I remember another pile of stones. Traveling through Estonian countryside a few years ago, I saw a pile of stones at the edge of a freshly plowed field. Farther down the field, I saw similar piles of stones. I asked my guide why those stones were there? She explained. “This land is very stony. They move aside as many of the larger stones as possible so they can cultivate the land.” What a difference in a pile of stones—Uncle Jule’s and Estonian farmers’—preference versus purpose.
There is another pile of stones I must mention. After the Children of Israel crossed over the Jordan River into the Promised Land, Joshua made a dramatic assignment. One man from each of the twelve tribes was chosen. Each man had to go into the river and bring a stone from the center of the riverbed. Those twelve stones were set as a memorial. They would be an eternal reminder of God delivering them from slavery in Egypt. Joshua told them that, down through the ages, their children would ask, “What do these stones mean?”—they, and all following generations would retell the story of God’s great deliverance from Egyptian slavery. The pile of stones was both a permanent, visible reminder of the story, and an opportunity to tell the story.
©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2025