snail story

I am settled in London now and have been bit by bit getting to know my way around the city, but instead of writing about my adventures here I'm going to be doing a bit of catching up... photos of my new place/neighborhood, etc are still to come. But I wanted to write a bit about the ongoing snail drama in my life.

The Snail Saga

All summer I worked tirelessly to have a snail free garden. They adored my cucumber and tomato plants, and ate just about every new leaf down to nothing - but through a combination of numberous natural (and admiteddly non-natural) solutions, including regularily going out in the mornings and evenings and just picking off every snail from under every plant's leaf and under the ridges of the pots they were in, I managed to eventually grow hearty crop of veggies.

Among the many solutions were beer traps, salt and other pesticides, copper piping, sandpaper, broken glass and so many others; I had never before realized how determined the snail species could be.

After a three week battle my plants grew enough to be strong and resist the snails... since emerging from the safe confines of my greenhouse-like lounge, the little seedlings strengthened up and the baby leaves grew stronger and thicker. The cucumber vines became healthy and prickly as did their leaves, and the snails retreated.

A careful balance of manual snail removal and sprinkling of pellets seemed to be enough to keep the bastards at bay.

Then however, came the vegetables... little baby cucumbers, tiny little tomatos, mangetouts (snow peas), french beans, and all the other little delectable treats which were vulnerably sprouting and growing in my garden.

Though they had to climb across the many traps I had set up for the, up and around the edges of my pots, across treacherous vines and branches to get to them, one by one the snails found their way back to eat the budding produce... and the war waged on.

As the summer progressed I realized that the snails were having a bit of trouble with my tomatoes. They seemed to sit for hours and hours attached to my little red rubies, but were completly unable to eat through the tomato skin once the fruit had grown to a certain size and maturity.

If the tomato managed to survive past the flower and green little fruit stage, it seemed strong enough to survive the snail's penetration - but every now and then, when I let a tomato grow so large that it literally split on the vine, the snails would somehow be immediately there, waiting and ready to tuck in to the over flowing juice and seeds.

... it seems that the tomato is the forbidden fruit of the snail. By the time it reaches it's best state, the snails can no longer eat them - but once and a while when one falls of the vine, gets trod on, or splits open - they all come out of feast.

... and the war went on and on

---
skip ahead to an evening a few weeks ago, when I was putting away the terrace furniture at work for the very last time. I was happy to be leaving brighton, and even more estatic at the fact that I knew it would be the last time I would have to stack and carry fifty some odd chairs and their corresponding tables to be roped off and locked up for the night at work.

As I was stacking the last of the chairs, I stepped down and experiences the infamous 'crunch' which one often experiences on such a damp and cold evening. It is the sound and feeling attached to stepping on a snail.

I cringed at the thought, stepped back and tried to spot the snail which I had so quickly put to death. But instead I only saw a perfectly untouched snail, just going about his business, shell still in tact. This made me confused; if this snail was perfectly happily trailing along, what or whom had just fallen prey to my clumsy footing?

It only took a moment or two, for me to divert my eyes and to see that only an inch or two away from this happy little fellow, were the remains of his less fortunate pal.

Two snails went out walking side by side, and I had accidentally put one to death.

It is no unsual thing to kill a snail. Certainly not after declaring and actively waging war against pretty much every gastropodal creature on this planet... but in this instance, when I looked down and saw the lonely snail friend, slugging along all disorientated having lost his mate... I suddenly felt repent for all my heinous crimes against these shelled creatures.
Looking back I dont understand why I did what I did, but I guess I just did the only thing I could. I reached for a cherry tomato of the tomato plants growing on the terrace, split it open and offered it to my little snail friend... call it a gift, call it an olive branch, call it what you will... it was the least I could do after the murder I had committed.

....

the evening went on and about two hours later I went back outside to finish the job I had started (not murdering snails, putting away the furniture).

As I connected the ropes and locked up about the chairs, I was suddenly reminded of the snail whom I had met with earlier. A rush of customers and a great deal of cocktails having to be made had put the snail out of my mind, but now remembering, I ran across the terrace to check in on my little friend to see if my offering had been accepted.

And this is how I found him.

Still devouring the little gift I had left him. (adjacent crushed snail not featured)

Perhaps the tomato symbolizes the end of the war between me and the snails, or perhaps this is just an instance of one little snail eating away his sorrows in place of mourning for his pal. It may be next spring until I know, but until peace talks begin - I just want to let the record show, that despite all the many times I have cast snails aside and stood in the way of them getting their dinner, I did at one point do something nice for a snail.

- C