Green Horns

It takes a lot of effort to create greenery in urban spaces today. Verdant strips weave between brick, mortar, and concrete to proudly bear the name, “lung spaces.” Back when we were little, everything was green and so were we.

My best friend and I grew way back when kids could safely walk together through fields and meadows outside of home. We also grew up before my sleepy little city explosively transformed itself as the tech capital of the country.

We don’t even remember where our big sisters were going that day, but my best friend and I did what we do best. We tagged along, immersed in our own world. We had a thing for beaches, that was for sure.

On the way, we collected nature treasures, twigs, leaves, and seed pods from a South American tree transplant. We were constantly warned to be careful. However, we learned lessons mostly by experimentation.

The silk mimosa trees would grow so tall on either side of the street, they would form a shady canopy during summer. The long seed pods ready to burst, held a promise. We'd collect them for a project. With a heavy rock, we would pound and shape the seeds in pods to form imperfect round balls. There was little bounce to them, and the stickiness never left the balls for long time. Yet,this was a low cost cricket ball for us enthusiasts, and we learned to be careful after getting a couple of "knock-out" hits.

As always, we had started perfectly dressed due to orders from above. Like most days, we found ways to undo all that.

It was a most pleasant day we chanced upon our newest find. They were spread like little gems.

"Treasure!"

I don't remember which one of us spotted them first, but we were on our knees. We even found some between the spiky plants. Excited beyond words, my friend and I could not believe our luck. We dropped everything we were carrying and started collecting those shells. Our clothes had large pockets, and we filled them to the top.

“I found them first, so I should have more.”

“I am quicker than you, so I should keep what I picked.”

We bickered and settled. With pockets bulging, we tried catching up with our older siblings engrossed in their own conversations.

Yes, the memories are coming back. We had walked to the botanical garden, and it was time to head back. On the long walk home, I decided to get to know my treasure better. I wanted to feel the shape and texture, so I put my hands in the pocket.

As soon as I started exploring, I felt something break. A gooey feel was not what I was expecting. “Yeew,” I cried, and my friend had a similar reaction.

She too was doing the same, feeling around her pocket. We pulled out the shells from our pocket and noticed the goo. We dumped the broken ones on the ground and watched the fragile, cracking shells.

At this point, we could have dumped them all. Chagrined by the vast reduction, we decided to protect our treasures together. We sorted the intact ones and kept them safe till we reached home.

My friend’s dad was the first person we encountered. In the eagerness to share, we dropped our fine wares on the table.

He looked surprised.

“Now why would you bring these in?”

“We got shells Pa, remember we picked some in the beach?”

“We'd have brought more, but many broke."

My friend’s dad looked at us with a serious expression.

“Did you know we live in a city 3000 feet above sea level?”

We shook our heads unable to make the connection.

He tried to cover his laughter and replaced it with serious quick-get-rid-of-them-and-wash-hands look.

We did not want to part with our precious seashells, but he quickly dispelled our reluctance. He told us what they were, and that was all we needed to know.

Now completely grossed out, we did what we were told with full compliance.

If we had known then what we know now, we could’ve whipped up a gourmet meal of escargot.

Even to this day, that slimy feeling between the crispy, broken shells cannot disappear. My friend and I have forgotten many things, but that tactile memory of slime, disintegrating crunch, and a cold moisture, we will never forget.

We had collected fragile snails thinking they were hardy seashells!