Reflections on a Snail at the Birdbath

Snail at the Birdbath 

 (SA/2023)

 

 

I sent the above photo of a garden snail crawing along the lip of the birdbath to M. and she said: 'I didn't know they needed to drink.'

Which is not as foolish as it first sounds; for although garden snails absorb a significant amount of fluid from their food - and some directly through their skin - they do, in fact, need to drink regularly in order to maintain their water balance and not dry out. 

 

This is not surprising when one discovers that snails are actually composed of almost 90% water (which is 20% more water than human beings, but 5% less than jellyfish). 

 

But still, it's not often you see snails actually taking a drink ...

 

However, that's not to say the snail pictured was quenching its thirst; I prefer to think he was, like Narcissus, admiring his reflection in the water (even at the risk of falling in and drowning). 

 

But then, it might be asked: Can snails see? And, even if they can see, would they pass the mirror test; i.e., are they able to recognise their own reflection?

 

In answer to the first question - yes, snails can see. 

 

However, they can't see very well; they can't differentiate colours and although their eyes do possess a lens, they lack the ability to focus images. Pretty much, they can sense light and dark and work out where a source of light is coming from. But that's about it. 

 

Still, snails do have an excellent sense of smell and can feel vibrations, changes in temperature or humidity, etc. Thus, they do okay - and have been doing okay for millions of years.

As for the second question, well, to be honest, it's doubtful that a snail would pass an MSR test. As far as scientists are aware, only a very small number of creatures can do so; apes, dolphins, elephants, magpies - i.e., the usual suspects. 

But who knows what goes on in the (literally) brainless mind of a snail ...?

 

 

Is There Life on Mars?

Is There Life on Mars? (SA/2023)

 

 

The question of whether there is - or at some point has been - life on Mars is one that continues to excite the popular imagination, as well as arouse the professional interest of astrobiologists.

 

Indeed, the seach for microbial Martian life or, at the very least, traces of such life - so called biosignatures - is one of the main reasons NASA keep sending missions to the Red Planet.    

 

However, whilst evidence has been found that Mars could have once supported life in the past - for it wasn't always the dry and arid planet that we know today - there's nothing to indicate that life is still present now.      

 

But the thing is, I don't really understand why it matters or why anyone should care: for whilst there may or may not have been life on Mars billions of years ago, there's presently an abundant and mind-boggling variety of living organisms here on Earth - it's the freakiest show, as Bowie might say.

 

Indeed, as the above photograph illustrates, there's probably more life to be found on a single red tile of my front door step than on the entire surface of the Red Planet and surely we should cherish and preserve this life, rather than spend billions of dollars looking for alien beings.        

 

For me, a tiny baby garden snail inspires far more wonder than E.T. (Oh man, look at those molluscs go!)

Of Garden Snails and Motor Cars

Garden Snail (SA/2022)

 

What chance have snails upon an asphalt road

When giant SUVs go roaring by? [1] 

 

 

I assume my neighbour loves his wife and children; but I know for a fact he loves his sleek and (to my eyes) sinister looking Sports Utility Vehicle parked proudly in front of his house on what was once a garden full of wild plants, before being concreted over. 

 

And I know this not only because I have seen the way he cares for the car, but heard the way he boasts of its special features, including optimal traction, enhanced connectvity, and a fuel-injected engine (terms which mean absolutely nothing to me). 

 

He's right, of course, when he says it's a marvel of automotive engineering, but I can't help thinking: So what? 

 

The design, development, and manufacturing of motor cars is not something that interests or excites my imagination - certainly not in the way that the snails creeping about in the dampness of my garden after the rain, fascinate and enchant. 

 

For if, as my neighbour insists, his SUV is a marvel of engineering and technology, then a snail is a wonder of evolution, first moving on to land about 350 million years ago. The former may be able to crush the latter under its alloy wheels, but when it comes to possessing special features, Cornu asperum [2] leaves even the most advanced automobile in the dust. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm paraphrasing Harry Crosby, who opens his poem 'The Golden Gourd' with the following lines: "What chance have snakes upon an asphalt road / When giant limousines go gliding by,". The poem can be found in Ladders to the Sun, (Soul Bay Press Ltd., 2013), p. 38. 

 

[2] The scientific name of the common garden snail is subject to intense debate amongst malacologists; although classified as Helix aspersa for over two centuries, the prevailing wisdom now places it in the genus Cornu. Whatever we call it, this terrestrial mollusc - originally native to the Mediterranean region - now dwells happily in several parts of the world. In fact, the only place you are unlikely to find one, is Antarctica.  

 

For an earlier post in which I reflect favourably on the snail, click here. 

 

 

Reflections on the Snail

Henri Matisse: L'Escargot (1953) 
Gouache on paper, cut and pasted on paper 
mounted on canvas

The Little Greek hates snails, because they eat her plants. But I like them ...

Perhaps it's because I grew up watching The Magic Roundabout and had a particular fondness for Brian. But it's also because, like other molluscs, they seem to me to be fascinating creatures, gastropodding about in the dampness of the garden and leaving a silvery slipstream of mucus in their wake, an ephemeral trail that points the way for the beaks of birds that love to eat them. 

The fact that snails have little tentacles on their head, a primitive little brain, and possess both male and female sex organs (i.e., are hermaphrodites), also inclines me to view them favourably; they are both alien and perverse when considered from a human perspective. 

I particularly like the tiny baby snails, newly hatched, with a small and delicate shell already in place to conceal their nakedness. They are very pretty and very sweet. Francis Ponge speaks of their immaculate clamminess. The fact that people can kill them with poison pellets without any qualms is astonishing and profoundly upsetting to me. 

To her credit, the Little Greek only tries to dissuade the snails from eating her plants by using (mostly ineffective) organic solutions, such as coffee granules and bits of broken eggshell sprinkled around. Alternatively, she sometimes rounds 'em up and relocates the snails to the local woods - though this enforced transportation of snails also makes me a little uneasy, as it's all-too-easy to imagine little yellow stars painted on their backs.   

Not that this prevents me from eating them, prepared with a garlic and parsley butter when in France, or cooked in a spicy sauce when in Spain ... 

Note: the Francis Ponge poem to which I refer and from which I quote is 'Snails', trans. by Joshua Corey and Jean-Luc Garneau, Poetry, (July/August, 2016). Click here to read in full on the Poetry Foundation website.