One summer when I was about ten years old, I spent a couple of weeks practicing with my Daisy air rifle in preparation for a visit to my grandparents. My intention was to hunt snakes, and I dreamed of coming home with a beautiful and frightening diamondback rattlesnake skin. When my mother heard about my plans, she said I would do no such thing. The BB gun stayed home.
At my grandparent's house, the grown-ups were constantly yelling after me "don't slam the screen door" and "watch out for snakes." I watched for snakes behind the high sill of the out buildings before stepping in and I made sure no snakes lurked in the rafters. The thought of being in the out-house with a snake still gives me the creeps.
I never saw a snake around my grandparent's house, but there were snakes in the mountains, copperheads and rattlesnakes, and hunters would occasionally stop by to show off a large snake stretched out on a board. On the kitchen porch, my grandfather kept a tobacco tin with rattlesnake rattles in it. They felt alive and dangerous in my palm. One Monday morning, just a few yards from that porch, my grandmother was bitten by a copperhead while doing the wash.
The water for washing clothes was heated outdoors on a large stone fireplace. A copperhead, driven out of the rocks by the heat, bit my grandmother near the ankle. "I've been bit!" she said. Luckily my uncle was close by. He quickly cut open the wound and extracted as much of the poison as possible. He saved her life, but she was bedridden for months, and nearly lost her leg.
All that happened years before I was born, but the family was still vigilant and instilled in me the habit of being careful. I was glad that my BB gun had been left at home so I had an excuse to not hunt snakes. I took my elders advice to watch out for snakes, and secretly hoped that slamming the screen door would frighten them away.
That 's a well crafted story Edd, I especially like the way you came back to the slamming door at the end.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great story. I loved to hear stories like this and to be able to picture what it must have been like.
ReplyDeleteI haven't seen this picture before. Are these your mom's parents?
Dorene, these are my mother's parents, Isaac and Mattie Johnson. Mother was their youngest child and was named after my grandmother.
ReplyDeleteI just went into my search for your family stuff and realized who they were. Since you said they were the Johnsons, I figured it out. I don't have much family tree history on your mom's side, so seeing this picture was nice. Thanks for posting it.
ReplyDeleteI swear I recognize this location. In past years I've several times spent days wandering the back roads around there while staying with friends in Lexington. Could just be that the terrain is familiar in a generic way, but I really sense that I recognize the spot itself.
ReplyDeleteCarl, if you were heading south on old Route 11 and turned left on route 43 just after crossing the James River in the town of Buchanan, you would pass this spot about a mile or so up the road, just before entering the George Washington National Forest. My grandparent's house is gone, and the last time I went by there a house trailer was on the property.
ReplyDelete