I was spending part of my summer vacation with my Aunt Annie, who was a character and a half in the best possible way. She had a way of making even an ordinary day feel like it might turn into a story. I loved being around her. She would take me to state parks around the Piedmont, and we would spend the day outside exploring, wandering, and seeing what we could find.

Then one day, she asked me if I wanted to go gemstone mining.

She took me to Emerald Hollow, and something about that place immediately pulled me in. I can still remember how completely focused I became. For a kid with ADHD, that kind of calm did not come often. But there, with my hands in the dirt and my attention fixed on every glimmer and strange shape, the rest of the world seemed to quiet down. I was in my own little place, completely absorbed and completely happy.

My cousin found an enormous piece of rough amethyst that day, somewhere around 14,000 carats. At the time, it felt like treasure in the truest sense of the word. We took it to the workshop, where the lapidary was working, and that was the moment everything changed for me.

I remember looking at the rough stones in my pocket, then looking at what his hands and tools could bring out of them. Stones that looked ordinary on the surface could hold color, fire, depth, and patterns you would never expect. It felt almost like a secret. The beauty had been there the entire time, waiting for someone patient enough to reveal it.

I was hooked.

Life moved on, and for a long time I never had the time, space, or means to truly invest in rockhounding and lapidary work. But the interest never left. It stayed with me quietly, waiting in the background.

Now, I finally have the chance to return to it.

The Slapidary comes from that same feeling I had as a kid at Emerald Hollow. That sense of curiosity. That calm focus. That excitement when a rough stone begins to show you what it has been hiding. I still fall in love with nearly every stone I touch, not because they are all perfect, but because each one carries something different.

This is more than a shop to me. It is a way to share the wonder that started all those years ago with my Aunt Annie, a bucket of dirt, and a pocket full of rough stones.