The familiar
fragments.
These are the pieces I return to most often. None needs to be perfect to deserve its little square of paper.
A curve with its centre missing
The ammonite fragment is small enough to sit comfortably in my palm. The outside edge carries a series of ribs, while the broken inner face is much less orderly. I drew the visible curve in the notebook and left the missing section blank. Filling it in would have made a more satisfying picture and a less honest record. Its label is brief: where it came from, when it joined the cabinet, and a reminder to compare the rib spacing before attempting a more precise name.
The little guard
The belemnite guard is a short, tapered piece with one blunt end. It took me a while to understand that this was part of an internal skeleton, rather than a whole shell shaped like a tiny cone. The British Geological Survey's belemnite guide helped that distinction settle in. I keep a simple side-view drawing beside the specimen, which is more useful to me than the elaborate shaded picture I tried first.
A shell, with a question mark
A pale impression in a dark piece of rock occupies the least confidently labelled corner of the drawer. There is enough shape to make me curious, but not enough for me to feel sure of a name. I have written “shell impression?” and left space underneath. The question mark is not an embarrassment; it is the reason I still take the piece out, turn it towards the light, and look again.
Why the uncertain labels stay →