Snake

I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone else. Sometimes that's a really good thing and sometimes it can be awful!

When I was in about the 3rd grade, I was my daddy's constant companion. I was a total tomboy and loved nothing better than taking to the woods and creeks with him. We were out one day checking some "trot" lines he had set in the creek. (These are baited hooks that are left to snag fish or turtles. You set them and then come back and check to see what you have caught later. I have no idea if they were legal, probably weren't.) We were walking down the creek with me wading in the shallow water when my dad pointed out a small water snake. I wasn't about to admit fear of anything so I expressed complete interest. He decided to show me how to catch them with a small forked stick. You slipped up on the snake, put the fork of the stick behind his head to hold him down, then gently picked him up by the neck. (do snakes have necks?) In short order we had caught three snakes which we put in a gallon jar found nearby.

I proudly took the snakes home to show my mother. She was less than impressed although she bravely admired them. I proclaimed my intention of taking them to "show and tell" at school tomorrow. That was a splendid idea she confirmed but they absolutely, positively were NOT staying in her house over night (even with a lid on the jar). A compromise was reached where the snakes spent the night on the old brick grill in the back of the yard. (I have never confessed my relief that they were removed or the fact that I had nightmares about snakes all night!)

The next morning I loaded up my jar of snakes and headed off to school. We lived less than two blocks from school, but this morning my dad dropped me off so I wouldn't have to lug the jar. It was a glorious morning for a kid. My teacher was very surprised and tolerant of my contribution to show and tell. I even received the honor of getting to take my exhibit to the other classrooms and show them my snakes. My chest swelled with pride as I held up my jar and explained about their collection.

We returned to my class and I set the jar on the corner of the teachers desk. "Oh! No!" she exclaimed, slightly flustered, "We don't have the facilities to care for your snakes. You need to take them home!" (In those days, if you lived close, it wasn't uncommon to be sent home to retrieve forgotten papers, lunches, or whatever. So she had no hesitation in making this demand and meaning it to happen immediately.) With that she hustled me out the door and told me to hurry back after I had delivered the snakes home.

I slowly walked out of the school grounds, thinking hard. I knew, with a kid's unerring instinct, that taking the snakes home was not going be a popular decision with my mother. In fact I was reasonably sure it was going to be highly unpopular in the extreme. I also knew, from the look on my teacher's face, that taking them back to school was also not going to be a possibility. However, I had to do something with them. I couldn't just walk around carrying them. I did have to return to school at a reasonable time or they would send Mrs. Montgomery to hunt me. (A fate worse than death since she was the much feared principal.)

So feet dragging I headed in the only direction I could, toward home. About half way home, thinking furiously, I came to a neighbor's drive. Along the drive was a large clump of ornamental grass, thick and taller than a small child. I stopped and stared at them for a long moment then reached as far as I could into the dense growth and deposited the jar. The leaves immediately hid the jar from view. The problem was solved, so I turned and retraced my steps to school, mission accomplished.

All was good until my mother came home from work that afternoon. She rounded the corner onto our street to be faced with the neighbor standing in the road at the end of his drive waiting for her. He waved his hands frantically for her to pull over. "Do you know what your kid has done?", he demanded. My mother probably started easing her foot off the brake before he finished his lament. "I watched her put something in my grasses so I came out to see what it was. I have spent all afternoon putting everything I have in the garage in that jar trying to kill the things and they JUST WON'T DIE!!!!!" He was fairly dancing with frustration and distress. "Here you take them!!" with that he thrust the jar at the window of the car. Before he could deposit them in the window she drove off calling "I'll take care of it right away!"

That night my dad and I went to the neighbors, removing the snakes and apologizing profusely. I think my mother blamed both of us equally for the embarrassment. I know we never hunted snakes again.

The neighbor finally forgave us, but until his dying day never referred to me by any name but Snake. Even at my wedding he congratulated my bewildered new husband saying, "Best wishes to you and Snake."

My new family wasn't much reassured by the explanation of the name.