Part 2 (1/2)

Snail-eating predators come in all forms, from mammals of all sizes to amphibians, birds, and various insects, including ants, centipedes, beetles, and tinier parasites. Even a few species of spiders resort to dining on escargots, though as Simon Pollard and Robert Jackson point out in their chapter in Natural Enemies of Terrestrial Molluscs, Natural Enemies of Terrestrial Molluscs, venom injection by a spider requires ”close contact . . . [and] tends to mean a face full of mucus, which, for most spiders, may be an unacceptable price to pay for a meal.” venom injection by a spider requires ”close contact . . . [and] tends to mean a face full of mucus, which, for most spiders, may be an unacceptable price to pay for a meal.”My snail was downright savvy; some of its active defenses were so subtle that I wasn't even aware they were strategic. Simple withdrawal into the sh.e.l.l not only provided physical protection but also gave the appearance that no one was home. My snail used this defense quite successfully on me the day it arrived in the pot of violets. Oliver Goldsmith notes this behavior:The snail, thus fitted with its box, which is light and firm, finds itself defended, in a very ample manner, from all external injury. Whenever it is invaded, it is but retiring into this fortress, and waiting patiently till the danger is over.A snail's slow locomotive speed makes it seem vulnerable, but it may actually be a survival method, saving it from predators whose hunting activity is triggered by fast movement. The silence of its gliding also protects it from those who hunt by sound.Being slimy is a complex defense system that goes well beyond the ability to repel a h.o.m.o sapiens. h.o.m.o sapiens. Large predators can't get a grip on a slippery creature, and smaller parasitic insects may get stuck in the ooze or have their mouth parts gummed up. If the usual slime recipe isn't enough of a deterrent, a special batch with particularly toxic and bad-tasting chemicals can be copiously produced on the spot. For a gastropod, survival of the fittest often means survival of the slimiest. Large predators can't get a grip on a slippery creature, and smaller parasitic insects may get stuck in the ooze or have their mouth parts gummed up. If the usual slime recipe isn't enough of a deterrent, a special batch with particularly toxic and bad-tasting chemicals can be copiously produced on the spot. For a gastropod, survival of the fittest often means survival of the slimiest.One well-evolved pa.s.sive defense was evident in the way my snail's earth-colored sh.e.l.l blended into its environment. I was constantly nonplussed by how the snail could vanish right in front of my eyes against the terrarium's flora, even when it was moving.Then there was my snail's brilliant strategy of elusively changing its sleeping spots. It might be on its side, drawn into its sh.e.l.l beneath a fern frond, and thus not visible from above; or nestled against a rotting branch the color of its sh.e.l.l; or in a crevice, hidden by a bit of lichen. It was amazing how the snail, with virtually no sight, found such perfect hiding spots.It was in Tony Cook's chapter in The Biology of Terrestrial Molluscs, The Biology of Terrestrial Molluscs, t.i.tled ”Behavioural Ecology,” that I found the sentence that best expresses a snail's way of life: ”The right thing to do is to do nothing, the place to do it is in a place of concealment and the time to do it is as often as possible.” t.i.tled ”Behavioural Ecology,” that I found the sentence that best expresses a snail's way of life: ”The right thing to do is to do nothing, the place to do it is in a place of concealment and the time to do it is as often as possible.”

EVERYTHING ABOUT a snail is cryptic, and it was precisely this air of mystery that first captured my interest. My own life, I realized, was becoming just as cryptic. From the severe onset of my illness and through its innumerable relapses, my place in the world has been doc.u.mented more by my absence than by my presence. While close friends understood my circ.u.mstances, those who didn't know me well found my disappearance from work and social circles inexplicable. a snail is cryptic, and it was precisely this air of mystery that first captured my interest. My own life, I realized, was becoming just as cryptic. From the severe onset of my illness and through its innumerable relapses, my place in the world has been doc.u.mented more by my absence than by my presence. While close friends understood my circ.u.mstances, those who didn't know me well found my disappearance from work and social circles inexplicable.

Yet it wasn't that I had truly vanished; I was simply homebound, like a snail pulled into its sh.e.l.l. But being homebound in the human world is a sort of vanis.h.i.+ng. When encountering acquaintances from the past, I sometimes see a look of astonishment cross their face, as if they think that they are seeing my ghost, for I am not expected to reappear. At times even I wonder if a ghost is what I've become.

16. AFFAIRS OF ASNAIL.

The emotional natures of snails, as far as love and affection are concerned, seem to be highly developed, and they show plainly by their actions, when courting, the tenderness they feel for each other.

- JAMES W WEIR, The Dawn of Reason, The Dawn of Reason, 1899

ONE MORNING I looked into the terrarium and was surprised to see a cl.u.s.ter of eight tiny eggs. They were on the surface of the soil, just under the edge of the birch log, and were the color and size of pearl tapioca. I wondered if they were fertile and if they would hatch. I watched with interest as the snail visited the egg site every few days to tend them. On several occasions, the snail appeared to hold each egg in its mouth for a little while to ”slime” it, or so I presumed, and thereby keep it at the right moisture for hatching. I looked into the terrarium and was surprised to see a cl.u.s.ter of eight tiny eggs. They were on the surface of the soil, just under the edge of the birch log, and were the color and size of pearl tapioca. I wondered if they were fertile and if they would hatch. I watched with interest as the snail visited the egg site every few days to tend them. On several occasions, the snail appeared to hold each egg in its mouth for a little while to ”slime” it, or so I presumed, and thereby keep it at the right moisture for hatching.

Woodland snails are hermaphrodites. While rare among mammals, this characteristic is common in the majority of other animal groups and in the plant kingdom as well. A snail may find a partner randomly or show a preference for age or size. They mate in late spring, early summer, or fall, after an elaborate and complex courts.h.i.+p. A terrestrial snail that has been isolated for a while can, rather conveniently, self-fertilize, thus founding a new colony and ensuring the survival of its genes.By chance, the previous year, I had watched the sensuous scene of two Burgundy snails courting in a French meadow in the film Microcosmos, Microcosmos, directed by the scientists Claude Nuridsany and Marie Perennou. Bruno Coulais' original music composition ”L'amour des escargots” provides an operatic backdrop to the snails' obviously pleasurable, lengthy, l.u.s.ty, and slimy embrace. directed by the scientists Claude Nuridsany and Marie Perennou. Bruno Coulais' original music composition ”L'amour des escargots” provides an operatic backdrop to the snails' obviously pleasurable, lengthy, l.u.s.ty, and slimy embrace.In Patricia Highsmith's short story ”The Snail-Watcher,” the main character observes two snails in love and is enthralled:Mr. Knoppert had wandered into the kitchen one evening for a bite of something before dinner, and had happened to notice that a couple of snails in the china bowl on the drainboard were behaving very oddly. Standing more or less on their tails . . . their faces came together in a kiss of voluptuous intensity.

Fascinated by what he's seen, Mr. Knoppert begins to read everything he can find on snails: [He came] across a sentence in Darwin's Origin of Species Origin of Species on a page given to gastropoda. The sentence was in French . . . [and] the word on a page given to gastropoda. The sentence was in French . . . [and] the word sensualite sensualite made him tense like a bloodhound that has suddenly found the scent. made him tense like a bloodhound that has suddenly found the scent.

I decided to follow in the research footsteps of Mr. Knoppert. Since he had turned to Charles Darwin for information on snail romance, so would I. My own research suggested that Mr. Knoppert may have been looking in the wrong book, as it was in The Descent of Man The Descent of Man that I found the sentence, in the chapter on molluscs. It was a quote from Darwin's colleague the Swiss American zoologist Louis Aga.s.siz. Apparently too explicit for Victorian England, Aga.s.siz's observations had remained in the language of romance. The sentence did not contain the word that I found the sentence, in the chapter on molluscs. It was a quote from Darwin's colleague the Swiss American zoologist Louis Aga.s.siz. Apparently too explicit for Victorian England, Aga.s.siz's observations had remained in the language of romance. The sentence did not contain the word sensualite, sensualite, but it left me as curious as Mr. Knoppert, so I sent the quote off to several French-speaking friends with the resulting translation: ”Whoever has had the opportunity to observe the lovemaking of snails will not question the seductiveness of their movements and airs, which antic.i.p.ates the amorous embrace of these hermaphrodites.” but it left me as curious as Mr. Knoppert, so I sent the quote off to several French-speaking friends with the resulting translation: ”Whoever has had the opportunity to observe the lovemaking of snails will not question the seductiveness of their movements and airs, which antic.i.p.ates the amorous embrace of these hermaphrodites.”

The Victorian naturalists were eager to weigh in on a snail's love life. ”The snail is, in fact, a very model lover. [It] will spend hours . . . paying attentions the most a.s.siduous to the object of [its] affections,” proclaimed the author of ”Snails and Their Houses.” Also smitten, the naturalist Lorenz Oken was much blunter: ”Circ.u.mspection in feeling, dainty voracity, and immoderate l.u.s.t appear to const.i.tute the spiritual character of the . . . Snails.”And then William Kirby mentioned something that sounded implausible: A snail's ”courts.h.i.+p is singular, and realizes the Pagan fable of Cupid's arrows, for, previous to their union, each snail throws a winged dart or arrow at its partner.” I read more about these curious darts in Gerald Durrell's autobiography Birds, Beasts, and Relatives. Birds, Beasts, and Relatives. Durrell was ten years old and living with his family on the Greek island of Corfu when he happened into a forest just after a rainstorm: ”On a myrtle branch there were two fat, honey- and amber-coloured snails gliding smoothly towards each other, their horns waving provocatively.” Durrell is intrigued: Durrell was ten years old and living with his family on the Greek island of Corfu when he happened into a forest just after a rainstorm: ”On a myrtle branch there were two fat, honey- and amber-coloured snails gliding smoothly towards each other, their horns waving provocatively.” Durrell is intrigued:As I watched them they glided up to each other until their horns touched. Then they paused and gazed long and earnestly into each other's eyes. One of them then s.h.i.+fted his position slightly so that he could glide alongside the other one. When he was alongside, something happened that made me doubt the evidence of my own eyes. From his side, and almost simultaneously from the side of the other snail, there shot what appeared to be two minute, fragile white darts . . . The dart from snail one pierced the side of snail two and disappeared, and the dart from snail two performed a similar function on snail one . . . Peering at them so closely that my nose was almost touching them . . . [I watched as] presently their bodies were pressed tightly together. I knew they must be mating, but their bodies had become so amalgamated that I could not see the precise nature of the act. They stayed rapturously side by side . . . and then, without so much as a nod or a thank you, they glided away in opposite directions.The ”love darts” Durrell describes are tiny, beautifully made arrows of calcium carbonate, and they look as if they've been crafted by the very finest of artisans. They are formed inside the body of the snail over the course of a week and can be as much as one-third the length of the sh.e.l.l. The dart's shaft is hollow and circular and, depending on species, may have four finlike blades, which are sometimes f.l.a.n.g.ed; one end is harpoon sharp, while the other end comes to a flair with a corona-like base.Some species produce a new dart for each mating; others withdraw and reuse them in successive matings. A particular species might keep just one dart in stock; others have a ”pouch” with a pair or more. In Practical Biology, Practical Biology, T. H. Huxley comments on these Cupid's darts: ”In the T. H. Huxley comments on these Cupid's darts: ”In the spiculum amoris spiculum amoris . . . we have a structure, almost without parallel in the whole animal kingdom.” . . . we have a structure, almost without parallel in the whole animal kingdom.”The trauma of being hit by a dart, however, can sometimes put a snail off its courts.h.i.+p. Darts are not technically necessary for mating, and less than a third of all snail species are dart shooters. It is thought that the dart transmits a slime containing special pheromones that may improve the safe storage of the partner's sperm.A romantic encounter between a pair of snails can take up to seven hours from start to finish and involves three phases. First there is the lengthy courts.h.i.+p, in which the snails draw slowly closer, often circling each other, smooching, and exchanging tentacle touches. If they find they are not quite to each other's liking, they may end their romance, but if things are proceeding well, then in some species, dart shooting occurs.In the second phase, the snails embrace in a spiral direction and mate. Some species of snails simultaneously swap sperm, while others will be male or female at a particular mating and then reverse their roles the next time. Apparently being a hermaphrodite is not always easy; if two snails of a species that take on gender roles want to be the same gender simultaneously, a conflict may occur. Regardless of the method, and a.s.suming all goes well, sperm is exchanged either internally or externally; depending on the snail species, it may be offered in elaborately designed and decorated packages called spermatoph.o.r.es.Consummation is followed by the last phase, resting; the snails, still quite near each other, both withdraw into their sh.e.l.ls and remain immobile, sometimes for several hours. Regardless of the mating methods of a particular species, fertilization occurs internally, after the lovers have parted.In Highsmith's story ”The Snail-Watcher,” I could now understand why Mr. Knoppert's wife ”squirmed with embarra.s.sment” when he ”narrated snail biology to fascinated, more often shocked friends and guests.” Even Durrell is so surprised by what he sees that he consults his mentor, the biologist and zoologist Theodore Stephanides. Durrell's brother Lawrence, previously bored with discussions of natural history, suddenly becomes quite interested:”Good G.o.d,” cried Larry. ”I think it's unfair. All those d.a.m.ned slimy things wandering about seducing each other like mad all over the bushes, and having the pleasures of both sensations. Why couldn't such a gift be given to the human race? That's what I want to know.””Aha, yes. But then you would have to lay eggs,” Theodore pointed out.”True,” said Larry, ”but what a marvellous way of getting out of c.o.c.ktail parties-'I'm terribly sorry I can't come,' you would say. 'I've got to sit on my eggs.'”Theodore gave a little snort of laughter.”But snails don't sit on their eggs,” he explained. ”They bury them in damp earth and leave them.””The ideal way of bringing up a family,” said Mother, unexpectedly but with immense conviction. ”I wish I'd been able to bury you all in some damp earth and leave you.”Gerald's mother may have been impressed with another perk of snail parenting: a snail can keep its partner's sperm alive for several months-even up to several years, if necessary-waiting for the best environmental conditions before proceeding to fertilize and then lay its eggs. My snail had probably encountered a romantic partner either very early in the spring or sometime during the prior year. The lack of predators and the provisions of large portobellos and a steady water supply were just the encouragement a prospective snail parent needed to go ahead with egg laying.Eggs are usually laid below ground in several clutches of thirty to fifty each. My snail may have laid so few eggs and kept them above ground because the conditions in the terrarium were slightly too wet that week. Burying the eggs in such a circ.u.mstance might have been unsafe, since they could have burst as a result of osmosis.As the embryonic snail grows, it absorbs some of the calcium from its protective eggsh.e.l.l. On hatching, it will eat whatever remains of the sh.e.l.l, and if food sources are scarce, it may also eat a nearby unhatched egg or two that would otherwise have been a sibling.

17. BEREFT.

the snail has vanished! where it's gone n.o.body knows - YOSA B BUSON (1716 1783)

ONE MORNING I searched for the snail, but as usual it was hard to find. I looked again among the ferns and mosses and around some lichened branches. It was not foraging for calcium near the pile of crumbled eggsh.e.l.l. It was not by the little tree, nor was it near the mushroom. It was not high on the terrarium gla.s.s, nor was it by the mussel sh.e.l.l. It was not by the little batch of eggs it had laid several weeks earlier. It was not in any of its many hiding places. It had vanished. I searched for the snail, but as usual it was hard to find. I looked again among the ferns and mosses and around some lichened branches. It was not foraging for calcium near the pile of crumbled eggsh.e.l.l. It was not by the little tree, nor was it near the mushroom. It was not high on the terrarium gla.s.s, nor was it by the mussel sh.e.l.l. It was not by the little batch of eggs it had laid several weeks earlier. It was not in any of its many hiding places. It had vanished.

There was no gla.s.s top on the terrarium. Since it was the home of a living, breathing creature, I thought ventilation might be important. As far as I knew, the snail had never before left the terrarium. Even while sleeping in the pot of violets, it had always returned from its farthest expeditions.Now, inexplicably, it was gone. Perhaps, with its eggs laid, it was finally determined to head back to its wild woods. It was probably as homesick as I was. But I simply couldn't fathom my existence without it. Its tiny sleeping presence had comforted me by day, and its explorations had entertained me by night.I wondered if I could find and follow its slime trail, but the dry wood of the crate left no trace, and I was too weak to get down on the floor and search for further clues. From my bed I dropped pieces of mushroom onto the floor, hoping that the snail would appear. There were endless places in the room where it could hide-it could be anywhere-and I feared someone might step on it. I dreaded the sound of a terrible crunch.As the hours pa.s.sed, the situation seemed more and more futile, and I realized that I was almost more attached to the snail than to my own tenuous life.

THERE IS A CERTAIN depth of illness that is piercing in its isolation; the only rule of existence is uncertainty, and the only movement is the pa.s.sage of time. One cannot bear to live through another loss of function, and sometimes friends and family cannot bear to watch. An unspoken, unbridgeable divide may widen. Even if you are still who you were, you cannot actually fully be who you are. Sometimes the people you know well withdraw, and then even the person you know as yourself begins to change. depth of illness that is piercing in its isolation; the only rule of existence is uncertainty, and the only movement is the pa.s.sage of time. One cannot bear to live through another loss of function, and sometimes friends and family cannot bear to watch. An unspoken, unbridgeable divide may widen. Even if you are still who you were, you cannot actually fully be who you are. Sometimes the people you know well withdraw, and then even the person you know as yourself begins to change.

There were times when I wished that my viral invader had claimed me completely. How much better to live an exuberant life and then leave as one exits a party, simply opening a door and stepping out. Instead, the virus took me to the edge of life and then left me trapped in its pernicious shadow, with symptoms that, barely tolerable one day, became too severe the next, and with the unjustness of unexpected relapses that, overnight, erased years of gradual improvement.In a March 2009 article in the New Yorker, New Yorker, Atul Gawande wrote, ”All human beings experience isolation as torture.” Illness isolates; the isolated become invisible; the invisible become forgotten. But the snail . . . the snail kept my spirit from evaporating. Between the two of us, we were a society all our own, and that kept isolation at bay. The snail was missing, and as the day waned, I was bereft. Atul Gawande wrote, ”All human beings experience isolation as torture.” Illness isolates; the isolated become invisible; the invisible become forgotten. But the snail . . . the snail kept my spirit from evaporating. Between the two of us, we were a society all our own, and that kept isolation at bay. The snail was missing, and as the day waned, I was bereft.

18. OFFSPRING.

[The snail] drops a cl.u.s.ter of thirty drops a cl.u.s.ter of thirty to fifty eggs looking like homeopathic pills . . .

Under the microscope the translucent egg-envelopes present a beautiful appearance, being studded with glistening crystals of lime, so that the infant within seems to wear a gown embroidered with diamonds.

- ERNEST I INGERSOLL, ”In a Snailery,” 1881

THAT EVENING I was expecting a friend who had traveled a long way to see me. But all I could think about was the missing snail. When my friend arrived, she looked into the terrarium and lifted up a piece of moss. There, in a hole it had dug, was the snail, along with another, much larger clutch of eggs. I was expecting a friend who had traveled a long way to see me. But all I could think about was the missing snail. When my friend arrived, she looked into the terrarium and lifted up a piece of moss. There, in a hole it had dug, was the snail, along with another, much larger clutch of eggs.

I had allowed the terrarium to dry out just a bit and its condition was now more favorable for egg laying. Thus the snail had burrowed under the moss and deposited its eggs where they would be well hidden and stay evenly moist. The terrarium was an expectant snail's dream, a safe nursery for hatching offspring.My snail had recognized and dealt competently with the changing humidity, which it continued to monitor-periodically tending the eggs laid on the surface, but visiting the buried eggs only a couple of times. Though why a.s.sume that a gastropod would be any less skilled at planning for offspring than a h.o.m.o sapiens h.o.m.o sapiens?Eventually I would learn that I may be the first person to have recorded observations of a snail tending its eggs. Malacologists would have guessed that a snail visiting its eggs was more likely to eat them than to provide care. Because the first clutch was laid on the surface of the soil and numbered so few, I could see that none of the eggs were missing after the snail's visits. In the wild, revisiting eggs could give a predator a fresh trail to follow, but my snail was free from those concerns. Since it was separated from its colony, the survival of its genes was critical; perhaps this had triggered more attentive egg care.While too much moisture can endanger eggs, they can withstand surprisingly dry conditions. ”The vitality of snails' eggs almost pa.s.ses belief,” says Ernest Ingersoll:They have been so completely dried as to be friable between the fingers, and desiccated in a furnace until reduced to almost invisible minuteness, yet always have regained their original bulk upon exposure to damp, and the young have been developed with the same success.As a result of so much egg laying, my snail lost a noticeable amount of weight; its whole body shrank in comparison to its sh.e.l.l size. For about a week it spent more time than usual sleeping, and then it began to eat mushroom ravenously.

I NEVER SAW THE NEVER SAW THE first clutch of eggs hatch. This probably occurred at night, and in addition to my flashlight, I would have needed a magnifying gla.s.s. One morning I noticed that some of the original eggs had disappeared, and when I looked closer, I saw a few tiny snails moving around; if they hadn't been moving, I wouldn't have detected them. ”The young one[s] emerge in a lovely bubble-like sh.e.l.l,” wrote the author of ”Snails and Their Houses.” Their sh.e.l.ls are translucent and ”so delicate,” William Kirby notes, ”that a sun-stroke destroys them.” first clutch of eggs hatch. This probably occurred at night, and in addition to my flashlight, I would have needed a magnifying gla.s.s. One morning I noticed that some of the original eggs had disappeared, and when I looked closer, I saw a few tiny snails moving around; if they hadn't been moving, I wouldn't have detected them. ”The young one[s] emerge in a lovely bubble-like sh.e.l.l,” wrote the author of ”Snails and Their Houses.” Their sh.e.l.ls are translucent and ”so delicate,” William Kirby notes, ”that a sun-stroke destroys them.”

The hatchlings liked to hang out on the underside of the mussel sh.e.l.l, probably because of the moisture, darkness, and available calcium. Sometimes they would sleep beneath a slab of portobello, where they were out of view until they climbed up for breakfast in the evening and then were noticeable against the mushroom's white flesh. The number of hatchlings increased as the weeks pa.s.sed, and I realized that additional clutches of eggs must have been laid. Perhaps the snail had deposited them at the site of the original buried group, since it revisited that site several times, though I couldn't see precisely what was happening. Or there may have been other buried egg sites.As the tiny snails grew, their sh.e.l.ls increased in size and slowly became opaque. There must have been several weeks between hatchings, as it was easy to tell the clutches apart. One night, a younger hatchling followed one of its older siblings across the terrarium's gla.s.s side. It then crawled onto the older sibling's sh.e.l.l. The older sibling turned and looked at the younger one, and they waved their tentacle-noses wildly at each other, but there was no way for the older snail to get the youngster off its back. It seemed to be a case of sibling conflict. I didn't want to interfere, but I finally managed to sit up just long enough to detach the smaller snail and place it by the pile of crushed eggsh.e.l.ls. It spent the evening there, eating contentedly, which made me think perhaps it was after the calcium in the older sibling's sh.e.l.l.

I WONDERED HOW SOON WONDERED HOW SOON the little snails would mature, and I watched them closely. The thought of ending up with some hundred or so fertile snails was a bit mind boggling; it was an outcome best avoided. Highsmith's story ”The Snail-Watcher” opens with one of her foreboding first lines: ”When Mr. Peter Knoppert began to make a hobby of snail-watching, he had no idea that his handful of specimens would become hundreds in no time.” the little snails would mature, and I watched them closely. The thought of ending up with some hundred or so fertile snails was a bit mind boggling; it was an outcome best avoided. Highsmith's story ”The Snail-Watcher” opens with one of her foreboding first lines: ”When Mr. Peter Knoppert began to make a hobby of snail-watching, he had no idea that his handful of specimens would become hundreds in no time.”

While the bathroom habits of my original snail had not been bothersome-a small, neat squiggle now and then on the mussel sh.e.l.l or terrarium gla.s.s-the casts of so many at once, especially with their fast rate of growth, was leading to a rather splotched look everywhere.Given its solitary nature, I wondered how my snail was coping with a population explosion of its own creation. In the wild, nearly half an egg clutch is lost to weather, predators, or hungry first-hatched siblings, but in the terrarium the outcome was far more successful. I could only guess at the total number of offspring, as they were impossible to count; by day, each one had its own hiding place, and at night they were out and about, moving around in all directions at once. While watching my solitary snail had been peaceful and calming, watching a plethora of its young in simultaneous motion was nearly hypnotic. I had to admit that I I was just a bit overwhelmed. was just a bit overwhelmed.

OVER SEVERAL MONTHS, THERE was a gradual improvement in my condition-not so much that it was noticeable day to day, or even week to week, but I could now sit in a chair for a few minutes a couple of times a day. I wanted to try moving home, though I wasn't certain I'd be able to manage with less help. Since the prospect was daunting, I decided to leave the original snail and one of its offspring with my caregiver. Several friends, amused and intrigued by my enthusiastic ”snail reports,” eagerly adopted a few of the offspring as well. The rest of the numerous progeny were released into the wild where their parent snail had been found. It was only then that an official count was made: 118 offspring had hatched. was a gradual improvement in my condition-not so much that it was noticeable day to day, or even week to week, but I could now sit in a chair for a few minutes a couple of times a day. I wanted to try moving home, though I wasn't certain I'd be able to manage with less help. Since the prospect was daunting, I decided to leave the original snail and one of its offspring with my caregiver. Several friends, amused and intrigued by my enthusiastic ”snail reports,” eagerly adopted a few of the offspring as well. The rest of the numerous progeny were released into the wild where their parent snail had been found. It was only then that an official count was made: 118 offspring had hatched.

Part 6

FAMILIAR TERRITORY.

The crucial first step to survival in all organisms is habitat selection.

If you get to the right place, everything else is likely to be easier.

- EDWARD O. W O. WILSON, Biophilia, Biophilia, 1984 1984

19. RELEASE.

Climb Mount Fuji O snail but slowly, slowly - KOBAYAs.h.i.+ I ISSA (1763 1828)

BY MIDSUMMER, my dog, Brandy, and I were moved home. It was hard to say which of us was happier. Her cedar bed was in its familiar place, positioned in the living room to catch the morning sun. From my own bed in this same room, there was so much to take in that it was hard to know where to look first. There were the st.u.r.dy posts and beams that framed the s.p.a.ce around me; the art on the walls by friends and relatives, so full of color and life; and the window at my bedside, with its view of the natural world.

In the middle of the night, I was sometimes startled awake by an always mysterious bang coming from somewhere upstairs, but I felt only amused fondness for the escapades of the resident centuries-old ghost. I was used to the familiar eccentricities of my house, and this eased the transition of the move, though the adjustment to less day help was difficult.I missed the companions.h.i.+p of my original snail, but the time had come to return it to its wild woods. I hoped that by fall I'd be managing well enough that its single remaining offspring could come to stay with me for the winter.Snails with the longest life spans are often found in the most rugged climates. Given New England's deep winters, my snail would probably live several more years. There would be further lengthy courts.h.i.+ps and additional generations of offspring. After its sheltered life in the terrarium, it would have to readjust to the challenges of the woods, the dangerous predators, and the unpredictable weather. But with its many methods of defense and its dormancy skills, it had survived before, and I felt certain that it would do so again.I wished I could attend the snail's release, but now that I was home, I was too far away. A letter arrived from my previous caregiver, describing how she had left the one remaining offspring in the terrarium and carried the original snail back to the place in the woods where it had been found:On a misty day I took the snail out to a spot beneath an old oak tree. I set it on top of a wild mushroom. The snail became interested in the situation. It came partway out of its sh.e.l.l and then extended its head out over thin air, gradually moving its body downward, until it touched ground while still having its tail up on the mushroom's cap. Gracefully, it brought down its sh.e.l.l and tail, and with its tentacles pointed straight ahead, it made steady progress over leaves and twigs for the shelter of a downed oak limb.The original snail and I had been fellow captives, but now we had both returned to our natural habitats. As I tried to make my life livable within a few rooms of my house, I wondered how the snail was coping in its native woods. Though I was home, I was still not free from the boundaries of illness. I thought of the terrarium's limited s.p.a.ce, and how the snail had seemed content as it ate, explored, and fulfilled a life cycle. This gave me hope that perhaps I, too, could still fulfill dreams, even if they were changed dreams.Being home again was the next best thing to a cure, and though my physical limitations were still great, I was no longer completely bedridden. I was able to make occasional, brief but satisfying journeys within the house. I might retrieve some papers from a few yards away in the late morning, and then in late afternoon I'd try a rash trip around the corner to the kitchen for a fresh gla.s.s of water. I was elated to be able to manage these tiny tasks, though I paid dearly in exacerbated symptoms.From my bedside window I could follow the ever-changing weather-the wind's gentle stirrings and rages, the varied moods of rain, the interplay of sun and moon and clouds. And in the midsummer heat, the gardens surrounding my farmhouse were alive with color.There was the constant activity of small creatures flying among my perennials: hummingbirds and b.u.t.terflies, moths, wasps, b.u.mblebees, and countless other insects. There were so many different flight patterns, and the variety of wing shapes, body sizes and structures, and types of landing gear was impressive. The flow of aerial activity was so dense that I thought of it as a miniature version of New York's La Guardia Airport. Given the chaos of different species whoos.h.i.+ng by all at the same time, it was astonis.h.i.+ng that there weren't constant collisions.As I window-watched, I observed the comings and goings of my neighbors; they, too, were part of the rhythm of my familiar rural landscape. They would depart for work or errands and later return, walk their dogs, cut firewood, and check their roadside mailboxes. As twilight deepened, the low dart of a nighthawk over the field would catch my eye. Darkness brought the sparking of secret codes from the mate-seeking fireflies. Then, black on black, the swift shapes of bats would swoop for late-night morsels, and the hooting of owls would come softly, softly, from the woods-until all was quiet and still beneath the ancient brightness of distant stars and the shape-s.h.i.+fting moon.