By Nolan
I've fought it most of my life—Multi-Tank Syndrome. The constant itch of the aquarium keeper to set up just one more tank. I've had as many as seven running at once. Lately, I'd been good. Just the saltwater tank. Focused. Disciplined.
Until last weekend.
There was an empty tank. A stand. Lights. All sitting there in quiet invitation. An old piece of driftwood, long dried but still holding the shape of a former world. A 50 lb sack of crushed oyster shell from Tractor Supply—standard issue for someone like me. I rinsed it at the sink until the water ran clear—or until I gave up on that.
I placed the tank by the window. Filled it. Lit it.
I went to the store and bought a narrow leaf Java Fern (Microsorum pteropus) and two nerite snails. Not just for looks—though they are beautiful—but for what they carry. The nerites bring microbial memory. Their shells are covered in encrusting life, the invisible startup code a tank like this needs. This isn't decoration. It's colonization.
The tank has been running for a week now.
I might already have fish for it. A few mollies from another tank I haven’t told you about yet. They’ll like the hardness of the oyster shell, the slight warmth near the window, the sense that this place has been waiting for something to return.
There’s nothing accidental about this tank. It’s not just a side project. It’s an echo. Of past tanks, past calm, past caretaking. Some people rearrange furniture. I bring glass boxes back to life.
This one is here to stay.