The Great Relocation Project of 1987

As much as these endless storms are putting a major damper on my living situation (flooded apartment), I have to admit that I secretly love the rain. Rain makes the snail community magically appear, and snails make me think of my mom. To understand the connection you have to understand a little something about my mom, but to appropriately and accurately paint a picture of my incredible mom would be impossible. Do me a favor and trust that she is like no one you have met…I swear I am not biased and I am quite certain that nothing I write could truly do her justice.

When I was seven we moved into our home in Danville. My parents were both meticulous about every detail of the house but my dad was particularly passionate about the backyard. The plants were lined up in perfect rows like pristine little soldiers, and I swear I saw a few people pull a flower petal just to see if they were real (they were!). At long last things were finally just so and my dad could once again sleep at night. Weeks passed as we settled into our new home, but something wasn't right in our serene and perfect yard…snails, and a massive infestation of them at that. There was no way my dad would allow these tiny slimy shelled slugs to ruin his paradise, and we knew that something drastic would be done. A calculated plan was formulated and the next weekend poison would be spread throughout the yard. My mom and I were horrified, but there was no reasoning with the unreasonable, it was too late. Our snails had better pack their bags or pay the price. I was frantic, but my mother has a way of picking her battles and even winning the ones she forfeits. D-Day was quickly approaching and yet I was assured over and over that a counter plan was in place. A short time later giant empty fish tanks appeared and so began the “relocation project of 1987”. The objective was to collect the snails from the backyard and release them into a nearby field. Most people laugh when I tell this story, the immediate response being that there is no way we successfully relocated every snail. Unfortunately we didn’t take role, but in my heart I believe that we got every last one. In fact, I think those snails live today and tell their grandsnails about the “Great Cari Rodman”. For my mom, no life is too insignificant or too small, and I think those snails realize that they truly met a hero…I am sure it is not surprisingly that I couldn’t agree more.

So this evening when you walk your Toby, keep an eye out for those little snails. Watch your step and tread lightly, Cari Rodman would expect nothing less.