Tabatha Fritchman

Professor Stephanie Maenhardt

ENG-1010
February 8, 2020

The Great Snail Migration

I turn onto my street; the front of my house is barely visible from the street with all the
overgrown trees and bushes. I pull my car into the driveway, narrowly avoiding our green
mailbox with the Model-T tire that was welded on by my father. I am distracted by the enormous
amount of smoke billowing up from the new BBQ’er that my friend Steve is grilling on. He is
my pilot friend from Chicago Illinois, and now my roommate. My eyes are fixated on the
sizzling rare burgers, oozing their juices, and sending off their dark smoke. I grappled with my
car door, until I broke free. As I approach Steve I see that he is mesmerized, most likely by the
delicious mouthwatering, can’t wait to eat burgers he is grilling, but when I get closer, I can tell
that it’s not the burgers, but something else holding his attention.
“Hey, you. What’s up?” I startled him, interrupting what seemed to be him staring off
into space. ‘Hmmm, I hope he’s ok.’
“Nice grill”
“Oh, yea so cool story. This guy offered to trade me this grill in place of having to pay
the labor cost to fix his car.” Steve smiles and excitedly says “But that’s not even the coolest part
of my day. Look I found – a SNAIL!”
“Yeah… A ssnaaail… You’ve seen them before, right?” I say flashing my awkward face
at him.
“Yes. At the Zoo, but never in the wild!”
“Yeah, so we have wild snails here in Utah, do you want me to tell you about them?”
‘Oh! This’ll be fun!’
“Yes!”
“Ok, so they come down from the mountains, and travel in packs. Like one time a year
you’ll see hundreds or thousands of them migrating together down from the mountain.”
‘Let’s see how long I can keep this going,’ I begin to invent a story in my head and like in
the movies my vision blurs fading into imagination land.
 The mountain air is filled with the mornings moist mist, that kisses everything it touches
leaving behind its dew, and the smell of cherry blossoms compete with the smell of camp smoke
and pine. Shadows, and sunshine litter the ground with the visual contrast. The animals are busy
doing what animals do in the spring, chattering, nesting, and well, getting it on. But, most
importantly, “the snails take the baby slugs out for the first time to find their shells.” I tell Steve
while I continue imagining…
“Every slug, needs to find the rock that is perfect just for them”
One tiny slug clears its throat to ask “How will I know it’s the perfect one for me”
A burly tough male snail points towards the snail graveyard and says proudly “You’ll
know it’s perfect for you, if it doesn’t crush you – so choose wisely.”

Steve interrupts.
“WAIT! So, your telling me that snails start out as slugs?”
“Duh! Wait… You didn’t know that?” ‘This is just too easy, ha ha’ I think. Again, with
the vision blurry thingy into imagination land.
“When the last of the snow melts into the rivers, it’s time for the snails to pack together
for migration.”
The oldest snail leads the slugs out for the first time to find their shells. They slowly slide
their way to a mirrored lake that is scattered with rocks of all different shapes and sizes.
“We call this place The Rocky Snail Lake, it’s a sacred place.” Says the elderly snail

‘Man, I hope Steve hasn’t looked at the Utah maps.’

“When the slugs get to the rocky shore by the lake, they will find a rock that suites them,
glide on top and let their slime jelly hollow it out, for them to wear – like hermit crabs.”
After the slugs turn the stones into shells, they will participate in The Shell Ceremony
which is always performed by the oldest, and wisest snail. They call him Larry. He’ll call each
new snail up one by one to be inspected, and then blessed with the juice of courage. The juice is
slimy and comes directly from the snail tails of the many who’ve safely completed the migration
before. It’s an honor to the new snails to be blessed in this was. Seen as a rite of passage…

“Errhm, yeah bull shit! And I bet your also lying about the migration too huh?” Steve
accuses.
“Um NOoo! I was just getting to that part.” I realize I better wrap this up, I’m losing him.
I throw the look towards Steve to convince him of my seriousness.
 A new morning arrives for the snails, and they prepare to go on The Long Walk. It will
be a long and dangerous road to travel, but now that the snow has melted it is time for them to
migrate down into the human’s well-tended gardens where food is abundant. The new snails are
always told the stories about the gigantic tomatoes, all the vegetation, and of course the
delightful strawberries. The warnings about danger, and how much humans love their
strawberries are never mentioned until some snail accidently glides through poisonous coffee
grounds. You would think the elders would lead the journey with warnings… But, NOOooo.

I look over to see the un-impressed frustrated look on Steve’s face. It is the classic, one
brow raised stink eye. At this point I start laughing hysterically, I try so hard to finish the story, I
try and fail to get words out between the giggles.
Steve already took the scrumptious burgers off the grill and started walking up the worn
cement stairs leading into the house. We head inside while I proudly and manically giggle all the
way to the dinner table.

(969 – Word count)