SNAIL FOLK 



tents, with smooth slopes on all sides. As we get 

 higher, the shells become thinner, and well out of 

 the watery rush of mid-tide we even find decorative 

 furrows and ridges and a bit of color — a dash of 

 pigment here and there. What lessons the designers 

 of suburban bungalows could learn from the so- 

 called lower animals! 



If we watch closely we will find another equally 

 delicate adjustment to this life among inimical ele- 

 ments — this time a habit. Where we are sitting, 

 drenched with spray, but beyond the actual impact 

 of the breakers, we observe that the hmpets are 

 creeping slowly over the uneven surface — our 

 cracks their canyons, our irregularities their ranges 

 of mountains. They have no definite route but feed 

 as they go, scraping the new growth of algse from 

 the surface. 



Armed with water goggles so that we can see 

 more clearly, and, crab-like, clinging tightly with 

 hands and feet (and longing for a tail), we creep 

 down into the front line trenches of this elemental 

 battle-field. Here the waves threaten to tear away 

 our unshelled molluscan forms and roll us down 

 the submerged slope of Bermuda mountain. Gasp- 

 ing, and with eyes concentrated for the brief in- 

 tervals between the crash of the green and white 

 water, we detect the limpets of this zone. None are 

 moving, all are quiescent, and if we choose one or 

 two for intensive observation we see that their rest- 

 ing place is perfectly adapted to the outline of 

 their shells. With a knife we pry one loose and 



215 



