Slither

"We got alot of videos of the snake," the mother announced happily to her cluster of preschoolers. And then she repeated the sentence. "We got ALOT of videos of the snake". 

Oh my!

We continued past them towards the pond.  Now if there is one word to keep in mind when snakes are involved it's ROCK.  Especially on a cooler day.  Rocks hold the memory of yesterday's sunshine. 

Sure enough, as we peered over the rail fence a snake lay draped over the rock. Oh, and another was curled up, fast asleep.  Oh, and a larger snake headed for the reeds below.  Oh, and a small snake slithered behind a stone. "

"Was that four or five?" my husband asked as we strolled towards the parking lot.  

It can be hard to tell with snakes, where one ends and another begins.

fat snakes

 We left the shaded path to step out onto the sun warmed bank overlooking the pond. Something was happening just beneath the surface of the water. There was a swirl and splash and another swirl. To our right, a sun warmed snake rippled away. There was another swirl and splash below: a hunter fattening up for the long winter. Do snakes get fat?

interrupted

The Jackman Wetlands have a padlock barring the way to the parking lot now.
It's just as well. I haven't felt like walking there since we interrupted a snake eating his lunch.
Spring frog, over easy.
Or maybe it was Young Frog on the Rocks.

so mysterious

We walked in Jackman Wetlands again this afternoon. Turns out another jaunt at Jackman is another close encounter with a snake. What??!!!
I never thought of spring and snakes as somehow entwined, no pun intended, but I guess spring puts many creatures on the move, out of their winter condos.
As we sauntered up the rock strewn path, a woman and her Labrador puppy were heading towards us.
"She saw her first snake," the woman said, smiling.
"Oh," I said, my eyes widening. "Did it scare her?"
"Oh, yes! She was SO scared. She jumped straight into the air and turned sideways," the woman exclaimed.
"It must be instinctive," I suggested, wondering to myself how that could be.
The woman nodded emphatically and told us a little story.
Several years before, they had gone on a trip into the states and taken their other dog, who was about four at the time. It had never seen an alligator, having lived here in Canada. They stopped at a building with a cement alligator out front. As they walked toward it, the dog spotted the sculpture and abruptly stopped, pulling back in obvious fear. The woman thinking to show her pet that there was nothing to be afraid of, walked ahead and lifting her foot, placed it against the side of the alligator. The dog began to bark hysterically and tried to pull her away with all its might. Was that somehow instictive too. How would a Canadian dog know that the likeness of an alligator represented something dangerous?
So mysterious.

all around

We walked at Jackman Wetlands this morning. There wasn't a soul in sight. We were as socially distant as could be.
I am recovering from a fall; one of those dreadful stop, drop and rolls that can catch you unaware. A slow walk in the restorative sunshine and breeze seemed medicinal.
The Wetlands were full of wings. Mallard, teal, goose, merganser, junco, bald eagle, sparrow, towhee, coot, bufflehead, flicker, robin, canvasback and crow. Of course crow.
A garter snake magically appeared out of thin air on the path ahead and melted out of sight. Snakes are not very sociable. Nor was the second snake we saw further along. Although it did lift its head and look us over with bright bead black eyes and flickering tongue.
The sun was warm.
The path gentle.
The voice of birds all around.

rippled away

"Look at its little face," my grandson whispered as we hovered over a slender snake, frozen in flight. There had been two. One magically melted into the tangle of dry leaf cluttering the edge of the house at our approach. The other recovered its courage and slowly, slowly rippled away.

kept on walking

There is a pond, quite a large pond, right in the heart of a wooded park we love. It's the perfect place to watch Buffleheads and Mallards and look for painted turtles and giant frogs.
And hummingbirds
and Redwinged Blackbirds
and trout
and dragonflies
and owls
and mice.
As I stepped up to the weathered rail fence yesterday, and leaned over to admire the view, a slight movement caught my eye.
"Snake alert," I intoned.
A rather grand sized Garter snake was lying in and out of the sun on the grassy bank, just at our feet on the other side of the fence.
Hearing my voice, it launched itself with a splash into the cold water of the pond.
The very cold water apparently.
Poor thing.
Snakes are cold blooded. They need warmth like an arthritic pensioner needs Arizona. That super chilled snake quickly raised head and shoulders up out of the water and into the warmth of the sun, using a water reed for support.
As it hovered there, a small trout swam in for a closer look.
A very close look.
An eye ball to eye ball look.
The snake flicked its tongue.
The fish swam off.
We kept on breathing, and kept on walking.

quilt tattoo

I added a snake to my quilt back, sort of like a quilt tattoo.

• I drew a snake on a large piece of paper.
• I used this as my pattern/template.
• I placed a piece of interfacing onto my fabric and cut out my snake through both layers at once adding a quarter inch seam.
• Next I stitched around the entire snake.
• Then I snipped an opening in the interfacing and turned the snake right side out.

Until that moment, I had just been making an applique shape, a mere applique shape.

 When I began to turn my snake right side out though, it looked pretty snake-ish.

 It reminded me of a real snake skin that I unfortunately discovered on one of my woodland rambles once.

 Finding a snake skin is almost as bad as finding a snake.

 I pinned my snake down and threaded a needle.

 There it was, slithering along at the edge of my quilt back.

 What an unexpected jolt of color on the large, black back.

until that part

There was still a look of horror on my daughter's face. They had been sitting in their van, waiting, when she had spotted it. She had thought at first glance that it was a large piece of black tubing, but it was so thick, and in that moment, she realized that it was a large snake, sunning itself.
A truck pulled up and a man and woman jumped blithely out.
The snake gave a mighty heave, flipping over in mid-air.
It seemed to drain off of the road into the grassy verge.
The couple walked unknowing over the very spot the snoozing snake had been.
They unlocked a gate and as the man returned to drive the truck through, the woman walked slowly along the grassy edge staring intently as though she had lost something.

Now this story would be shocking enough, but there is more.
The woman in the truck was me.

As we drove down the long lane, my eyes were on the van alone.
When we pulled up to a stop, I noticed my son-in-law begin to open his door, his hand held out as though to steady or stop me, but I misinterpreted the meaning.
I thought he was chivalrously offering to open the gate.
I demurred.
Fortunately, the snake didn't.
It just disappeared.
As I peered along the grassy verge, looking for frogs to amaze my grandchildren, my daughter was saying in the van, "Mom CAN'T be looking for the snake."
Had the world tilted off of its axis?

"Oh," I squeaked, as the story was relayed moments later.
"Oh, you were trying to keep me from being frightened by the snake," I gasped gratefully, patting my son-in-law on the shoulder.
"No Mom, he just wanted to see the snake up close. He wasn't thinking of you at all." my daughter added.
And I wasn't thinking of me at all either. At least up until that part.

monster

Have you ever wondered where the middle of a snake ends, and where its tail begins?
I found myself wondering that as my startled gaze was fixed upon a snake disappearing into the brambles.
It makes a difference you know.
If you only see half a snake.
You may be seeing half of a very modest snake or only the tip of a monster.

armed and dangerous

Our hellebore is a thing of beauty.
If it is true that perennials crawl the first year, walk the second and run the third, ours is leaping over hurdles and high fiving its companions.
It has been growing in our garden for more than ten years but was adopted without a birth certificate so I have no idea how old it really is. I am guessing close to twenty.
It is one of the few plants that we simply couldn't leave behind when we made the move from Walnut Grove to Aldergrove seven years ago.
We dug it out of the ground in fall and found a place for it near the entry at our new home. We hoped it wouldn't be homesick.
It didn't bat an eye.
Each year it has increased in size and will soon be visible on Google Earth.
I remember the first time I saw this old friend; our hellebore.
Walnut Grove was intersected with old trails that seemed to start in the middle of nowhere and go to about the same sort of place. I suppose this is what happens when an area that has been rural, sells off by bits and bites as a community develops.
Old homes disappear and in time, property is subdivided and sold.
Being a frugal gardener, I often approached developers to see if plants could be rescued. The answer was always yes, and our garden was soon bulging at the seams with vintage roses, Four O'clocks, spring bulbs and evergreen shrubs.
When I spotted the hellebore, it was living on borrowed time. I dashed home for a shovel and pail and returned to size up the project.
I tromped in a circle around the plant a few times and took a tentative stab at the ground with the shovel.
Grass had grown in around the plant years before and it would be tough going to dig it out.
I lined up the blade of the shovel and stepped down.
I moved around the plant, stomping and chiseling away.
I leapt on the edge of the shovel with both feet and jumped awkwardly backwards.
A movement to the side caught my eye.
I was suddenly aware that I was being watched rather closely.
My flailings had been monitored with some fascination by a very large, striped garden snake.
Finally concluding that I was armed and dangerous, it hastened homeward.
I rather shakily plucked the hellebore from the ground and hastened home myself.

early warning siren

Years ago on an evening stroll, my observant mother pointed out a small snake. It was travelling in the same direction as we were through the long grass at the side of the road.
My reaction seemed a bit over the top to her. "Ahhhhhhhh!!!!" I screamed.
"Snake? Snake!" I sobbed, clutching her arm. You are never too old to need your mother's moral support.
"Well," she stated reproachfully, "I wouldn't have pointed him out if I'd known you were going to act like that."
I can no longer count the number of times that I have acted as an early warning siren.
The latest, was yesterday.
Only it was a false alarm, but not unlike a fire drill in its benefit.
We had gone for a trek to a wooded park.
I had been pointing out clues to my grandchildren.
Clues that a creature had been there ahead of us.
We saw mole hills and owl pellets.
We saw a tuft of fur and a feather.
We saw the round entrance of tiny tunnels meandering into the yellowed grass.
As my feet strayed from the path I pondered aloud. "Looks like a mouse's..."
My daughter contradicted, "Looks like a snake..."
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh," I screeched.
"Where, where?" I gasped.
I can still see my grandson's startled face
and hear his sober confession.
"I jumped Grandma."
But not as high as me I bet or with as much foot and arm action.
It's good to check your reflexes from time to time.