Here's the thing about Provo. There were no snails there while I was growing up. Provo was a snail-free zone. Snails slithered to a full stop when they saw the "Welcome to Provo" sign and then slid back to Salt Lake. Specifically to my garden in Salt Lake where they treated themselves to plenty of hostas and also marigolds.
Damn snails anyway.
Now here's the thing about my mother. Once she sets her mind to something, she is relentless. I have seen her tackle knitting projects that would make Professional Knitters weep. She knits, unpicks, knits, unpicks, swears a little, knits, and finally succeeds.
The reason I mention this is that snails, apparently, have gotten all cocky these days. Like they're saying to themselves we deserve to go to Provo and eat all the hostas there, too, now that we've polished off all the hostas in Salt Lake. And so snails have appeared in my parents' garden.
TRQ is on it. Every morning she goes snail hunting and drops those suckers in their tracks. Or whatever it is that snails leave behind. And, along the way, she's acquiring some interesting knowledge about snails, too, which has caused her to earn a grudging respect for her prey.
Although, in the end, she is merciless where the snails are concerned. It's sayonara snails with her. And all I can say is well done, TRQ. Well done.