Hello & Welcome
I have decided to document my journey into the weird and wonderful world of Zen snail keeping.
My fascination with snails began, as it does for most snail lovers, in childhood.
I grew up in the city, a true urban jungle if you will. I don't remember there growing not a single green, tree on my street. In the neighbourhood in which my grandparents lived I do remember an entire tree lined street in a place you would least expect it, an everyday, ordinary street that my grandmother and I passed when walking to the Acme supermarket.
I spent many summers at sleep away camp in the mountains of our fine state. Those were some of the most extraordinary and memorable times in my life, truly. This, is when I first encountered nature, deep forest, a cold chill of a rushing waterfall, long hikes to glorious mountaintops with a lively and group of eager, wide eyed girls. Many of us were city girls, probably most of us. I soaked up every minute, every campfire, every wildflower, every butterfly, every precious moment out there in what felt like " The wild " for me.
It is there is first met tiny forest dwelling salamanders, wild hares, dragonflies, lakeside tadpoles & fully grown frogs to name few. ( As a side note, luckily there weren't any of us who met Roscoe the Brown bear who considered out part of the forest HIS home. )
I developed an affection for creatures so tiny once I could see past their " icky-ness " I would hold them, talk with them, house them, share my deepest secrets with them & release them just in case they had families who missed them. I don't remember finding any snails in particular but I do remember finding within me a respect for nature and all of its life forms, especially the tiny animals, those magical beings, the "little ones" as I called them.
Parallel to my adventures at sleep away summer camp, I also enjoyed extended holiday vacations in the hometown of my Grandfather. Staunton , Virginia. Home of the Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library & Museum, also of The Camera Heritage Museum. For me, it was home to family. Every morning, like clockwork, the smell of fried apples, bacon & biscuits filled the house at 7 a.m. sharp. This was way too early for my tired eyes however to even blink let alone remain open however nothing tasted as good as those fried apples, crispy bacon and hot buttered homemade biscuits. I would rush to the breakfast table in my flowered sleeping dress, lazily open my eyes and devour my true southern style breakfast.
With a stomach so full you would naturally expect a young girl who was as sleepy as a bear during winter time to hastily hop back into her bed and remain there until the next meal call. This was not the case.
You see My Southern family owned a home and 3 acres of land surrounding that home. For me, it seemed as large as a concert arena. Located next to the side of the house grew a weeping willow tree. I spent many many hours there lost in a dream, a dream world which I hoped could last forever. Just below the willow tree was a garden patch. In that garden patch lived SNAILS!
Of course my Aunt complained that those lil critters might be cute but damn it, they are eating the hell out of her garden!!! You see at the end of every summer my aunt would pickle and can her tomatoes and cucumber and beets and I don't remember what else. There were always a rainbow of pickled fruits and vegetables to be seen lining the entry to her cellar.
Now, back to the snails... she never tried to kill them, no she did not believe in harming " any of gods creatures " so I was delegated the job of "re homing them" Truth be told, I was pretty terrible at this job no matter my level of enthusiasm.
Mainly because the snails and I spent time doing very much of nothing together. Sitting, looking at each other with all the awe of an infant when it sees the birds in the sky or finds its feet for the first time. It was a perfect match, the snails and me. I invited them to come and visit the little home I created under the shade of the willow tree ( just beside the garden patch. The snails gracefully accepted. As nightfall approached they would slime their way back towards the garden patch and I would return inside wash up before dinner and enjoy another comforting meal. Southern fried chicken and biscuits ( the leftover ones from breakfast ) and gravy. I was happy.
This was my introduction to the weird and wonderful world of these very Zen terrestrial, gastropod mollusks we commonly refer to as snails.
