Part of a telephone conversation
'stina: ...and the wildflowers are about to come out. And the grass was so pretty and green. And you have to come up soon! Ooooh! And I killed a snake!!!!
mama: You? Killed a snake? You?
me: Yep!
(brief pause as she digests this remarkable news)
mama: Did you run it over with your car?
me: Yep!
mama: Ah. There's no other possible way that you could kill one.
me: I made Graham check to make sure it was dead.
My mother knows me well. My willingly getting close enough to kill a snake with a blunt or sharp instrument is a factual impossibility. And I'm a terrible shot.
I felt a combination of terror and regret once I figured out that I'd killed the slithery little guy. On the one hand, my abject terror of snakes pretty much dictated a fear response even though I was relatively safe inside my car and the snake was already dead when I realized it was a snake and not a stick. (Still, I made Graham check the axle of the car when we stopped for a drink a few miles down the road, just in case one of the snake's friends decided to wrap itself around. I was informed it was a rather ridiculous request, but sweet man that he is, he lectured me for a few minutes on taking movies like Tremors to heart and he assured me that no snake would wrap itself around my axle seeking revenge.) On the other hand, I felt that sick feeling of sadness that I'd killed a living creature with my car. It was the same feeling I had when I killed a bunny rabbit that decided to turn direction in the middle of the road. When I killed a squirrel that miscalculated relative vehicle speeds in conjunction with its own.
The snake was probably two or three feet long. He was dark in color, but we didn't get close enough to check out the markings. As I said before, I thought he was a stick when I approached him, and it wasn't until I was upon him that it occurred to me that he'd be something else. It was towards the right side of the road, heading towards some grass and then the woods, right where the front hay field morphs into woods. I'd never seen a snake there before, so it didn't really occur to me that one would show up at 12:00 on a Sunday afternoon. It took me a good 300 yards of driving before my mind registered the snake possibility, and I braked hard when I realized what I'd probably done. Graham was sort of perplexed as to why I stopped, and as I reversed, I explained what I thought I'd just done. I made him check to a) confirm that it was actually a snake and b) confirm its death. He did both, though he didn't get out of the car or otherwise identify the type of snake it was. I assume poisonous, but that's because I always assume poisonous. (Plus, there have been plenty of copperheads and water moccasins sighted over the years. But I think there are also some ordinary brown snakes too. I never stick around long enough to check markings.)
Anyhow, aside from the vehicular snake-slaughter, it was a lovely weekend of doing pretty much nothing. We did take a walk, and Graham did spend a good hunk of the weekend staring at the various fires for making stuff like wood smoked bacon and an excellent barbeque brisket that spent a good 8 hours in the barbeque pit. And we watched two very good movies (3:10 to Yuma and American Gangster), one good movie (Spiderman 3) and one horrible, awful, mindblowingly bad movie (Shoot 'em Up). We also watched the first two parts of John Adams when we got home last night, which I highly recommend if you're into that sort of thing.
mama: You? Killed a snake? You?
me: Yep!
(brief pause as she digests this remarkable news)
mama: Did you run it over with your car?
me: Yep!
mama: Ah. There's no other possible way that you could kill one.
me: I made Graham check to make sure it was dead.
My mother knows me well. My willingly getting close enough to kill a snake with a blunt or sharp instrument is a factual impossibility. And I'm a terrible shot.
I felt a combination of terror and regret once I figured out that I'd killed the slithery little guy. On the one hand, my abject terror of snakes pretty much dictated a fear response even though I was relatively safe inside my car and the snake was already dead when I realized it was a snake and not a stick. (Still, I made Graham check the axle of the car when we stopped for a drink a few miles down the road, just in case one of the snake's friends decided to wrap itself around. I was informed it was a rather ridiculous request, but sweet man that he is, he lectured me for a few minutes on taking movies like Tremors to heart and he assured me that no snake would wrap itself around my axle seeking revenge.) On the other hand, I felt that sick feeling of sadness that I'd killed a living creature with my car. It was the same feeling I had when I killed a bunny rabbit that decided to turn direction in the middle of the road. When I killed a squirrel that miscalculated relative vehicle speeds in conjunction with its own.
The snake was probably two or three feet long. He was dark in color, but we didn't get close enough to check out the markings. As I said before, I thought he was a stick when I approached him, and it wasn't until I was upon him that it occurred to me that he'd be something else. It was towards the right side of the road, heading towards some grass and then the woods, right where the front hay field morphs into woods. I'd never seen a snake there before, so it didn't really occur to me that one would show up at 12:00 on a Sunday afternoon. It took me a good 300 yards of driving before my mind registered the snake possibility, and I braked hard when I realized what I'd probably done. Graham was sort of perplexed as to why I stopped, and as I reversed, I explained what I thought I'd just done. I made him check to a) confirm that it was actually a snake and b) confirm its death. He did both, though he didn't get out of the car or otherwise identify the type of snake it was. I assume poisonous, but that's because I always assume poisonous. (Plus, there have been plenty of copperheads and water moccasins sighted over the years. But I think there are also some ordinary brown snakes too. I never stick around long enough to check markings.)
Anyhow, aside from the vehicular snake-slaughter, it was a lovely weekend of doing pretty much nothing. We did take a walk, and Graham did spend a good hunk of the weekend staring at the various fires for making stuff like wood smoked bacon and an excellent barbeque brisket that spent a good 8 hours in the barbeque pit. And we watched two very good movies (3:10 to Yuma and American Gangster), one good movie (Spiderman 3) and one horrible, awful, mindblowingly bad movie (Shoot 'em Up). We also watched the first two parts of John Adams when we got home last night, which I highly recommend if you're into that sort of thing.