Like a magpie, I am a scavenger. I always come home with a pocket bulging with rocks after walking my dogs across the Montana prairie behind my house. There’s nothing I’d rather do than stroll along the beach, searching for a trophy piece of sea glass more exquisite than the last, or rummage through a turn-of-the-century dump pile in an Old American West mining camp on the hunt for broken shards of rare glass. Regardless of where I found it, each piece of glass is steeped with history and mystery. Oh, how I wish that they could talk! What stories they could tell! For me, the search for these little trash-to-treasures is a powerful lure, a sophisticated, grander Easter egg hunt. But more satisfying even than the hunt is to arrange emotion into these discarded things of no value. Nothing is more satisfying to me than to turn my scavenged junk into a thing of beauty.