Increasingly, I can't stop thinking about shells and our complex relationship with them.
This first started last August when I was in a curiosity shop admiring rocks and minerals, bones, and shells. I was drawn to the lovely shells but conflicted about what had become of their inhabitants. When I asked, the shopkeepers were transparent about their principles for acquiring the bones they sell, but they admitted that they didn't know about the snails. Wanting to give them the benefit of the doubt, and trusting their purchasing procedures for the other animals in question, I got a few small snail shells.
But it still didn't sit right with me. I still had unanswered questions. So I started digging deeper and confirmed that the shells we find in shops: those beautiful, pristine specimens... most certainly come from the demise of the inhabitant occupying it. So I no longer buy 'new' (ie: harvested-for-sale) shells in shops. I bring home shells that wind up in thrift stores and such. Giving a reverent second-life to shells that have been cast off after someone grew tired of them feels like a worthy thing to do.
When a shell shares my living space, I think of the life that lived in it and wonder about them. Who were they and what did they look like? Where did they live and what did they eat? I like that shells are a gateway to curiosity about these mystery critters.
Yesterday I was at the senior center rummage sale and there was a whole pile of shell necklaces on the jewelry table. They were visibly cheap souvenirs, but I was drawn to them. These necklaces stir up so much in me. Thoughts and feelings about human ancestors who lived with the land and respected it and used shells in their handcrafts for intentional purposes and with respect and without over-harvesting. There's so much beauty in a strand of shells: in the way the colors and patterns alternate, in the many ways they can be clumped in artistic groups along the strand of shells, in the sound they make as they rustle together. There's no doubt that shells are a beautiful component in art and creative expression.
But they are also the lives of social animals. And the commodification of these artistic traditions means that shells are needed quickly and cheaply, in mass quantities, for sale to tourists in souvenir shops. The balance between harvesting what is needed for specific and respectful use is put completely out of whack. And so snails are killed for their shells because people want to wear them or collect them or set them on a bookshelf. As I sorted through the pile of necklaces, some of them still with their gaudy gold Hawaiian sales tag on them, I thought of the many lives it took to get enough shells to make those necklaces.
So I brought some home with me. Because, even as cheap, mass-produced souvenirs, they are still beautiful and reminiscent of a more ancient craft, when our global ancestors knew more of balance and living in harmony with the earth. They're also a reminder of the commodification of lives and practices that weren't meant to be mass produced. (I mean, mass-production in general is problematic on many levels, not just in this specific case).
So these necklaces all at once make me think about the snails, the ancestors, the beauty of true craft, the sorrow of commodification and mass-production. They make me sad, they make me remember the beauty of true art. The remembering of it all feels like a gift and a weight all at the same time.
So it's complex, and I'm still sorting it out. I haven't yet started learning about the old-ways of harvesting and crafting with shells. I don't claim to know anything about the cultures that crafted and bartered with shells, and my personal ancestors don't come from cultures who did.
But I do know that there was a time when Hawaiian tree snails sang from the leaves of the trees and were an integral part of the maintaining healthy forests. Now, over 90% of Hawaii's land-snail population is gone. While these aren't the same snails used to make tourist necklaces en-masse, the attitudes that justify killing snails to re-sell their shells most certainly shape the landscape that we all share.