About 1.1 billion years ago, Earth’s crust tried to throw a continental-scale tantrum. Deep beneath what’s now the heartland of North America, hot mantle material surged upward with dreams of ripping the continent into pieces. Like many ambitious rift systems, it came with a plan: split the crust in three directions—classic triple junction style. One arm pointed northwest, one to the southeast, and the third dove southwest, forming a wide arc. If all had gone according to plan, we might’ve ended up with an entirely different continent—something with oceanfront property in Michigan.

To the untrained eye, an agate might just look like a pretty rock—but crack one open and it's like peeking into a geological diary. Formed in volcanic voids, agates are microcrystalline quartz that build up in rhythmic layers, each one marking a pulse of mineral-rich water over time. No two are the same, making each agate a natural work of abstract art.