Petit Gris

By M.L. VanBlaricum

© April 2011

I rose earlier than usual this morning. I walk to the driveway in my bare feet to get the LA Times; the dew from the overnight coastal fog is still on the grass. I spot a brown, garden snail (Cornu Asperum) scurrying back to the bushes after spending the night eating my amaryllis. Perhaps not scurrying by people standards, but I bet in its mind (if snails have minds) it is absolutely doing a sprint.

The snails in Santa Barbara are originally from the Mediterranean – someone brought them over by accident in all of the plants that were transplanted here from there. But, the story goes that a hungry Frenchman wanted a fresh supply of escargot so he imported his own and they got out of the corral. If you listen closely some mornings you can hear French and Italian coming from the flower garden.

I watch it (I’ll call it Tove) slither, gyre, and gimble towards the boxwood. When I was younger, I used to stomp them or throw them into the street to take their chances dodging cars. I now carefully pick up the slimey Tove and gently carry the critter to my backyard and place it in front of my Eastern box turtle, Duchess who is currently enjoying the wabe. Duchess loves’ Petit Gris Escargot but she is not an elegant eater.