My mother told many stories about growing up on a wheat and lentil farm in the rolling fertile Palouse hills of eastern Washington state during the Great Depression years.  One of those stories was about the fabled Giant Palouse Earthworm, said to inhabit the deep soil of those lonely farms, and occasionally surfacing during cultivation with the horse drawn equipment.   This was no ordinary worm;  this cream colored invertebrate would grow up to 3 feet long.  It could move quickly through the loose topsoil, burrowing deep when threatened.  When it was turned up to the sunlight by the plowshare,  all work would cease in the marvel of  such a hidden creature.  This worm smelled like the essence of lilies but when handled, it defended itself through a release of fluid from its jawless mouth--the old farmers said it could "spit" a yard away.    

I believed this was yet another of my mother's "mythical" stories of life on the wheat farm and considered the "Giant Worm" a  fairy tale sharing shelf space with Pegasus,  dragons and centaurs, the stuff of Gary Larsen and "The Far Side".  However, the Worm turneth "real".  It actually does exist...maybe. 

The last time a scientist found a Giant Palouse Worm was in 2005.  Since then it has remained elusive, or more likely, adversely impacted due to intensive agricultural practices of the last century.  Environmental conservationists have asked the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to institute protections for the Worm by declaring it an endangered species.   Somehow the Federal Government is not eager to put resources into a Worm and is engaging in typical bureaucratic delay tactics, resulting in a law suit.  The Worm will have its day in court.

Actually this is only partially about saving a fantastical Worm that no one can find; it is also about everpresent environmental battling for preservation of land in its natural state versus development--even agricultural development.  Scientists are putting electric shock waves into the ground in an effort to drive the Worms to the surface so we have actual specimens to study and admire.   If I was being shocked out of my comfy little dirt home, I'd dig deeper too, rather than rise to the surface for poking, prodding,  and photo ops.   And I'd feel like spitting.

I want to believe there must be a whole vital civilization of Giant Worms way down deep, dancing the night away in lily perfume and laughing at all the antics up under the sun.    Some day they'll rise to make their grand appearance, and like a cross between protected prairie dog towns and a child's bedroom ant farm, we'll create Giant Palouse Worm colonies in the soil with underground viewing chambers.    Then we can stare at them, and they can stare... and spit... back at us.

emily@briarcroft.com