Snakes & Scorpions, Sounds Like a Video Game

Two of the drawbacks to living in the country have shown themselves within the last 24 hours. Last night, as I took Lulu out for her final potty, there was a snake curled up on the sidewalk in front of the sliding glass door, just outside the bedroom. I recognized it immediately as a copperhead. We've killed six this year, but they have all been small, babies actually. The SO has said many times that the mama and papa were somewhere around, too, we just had not happened upon either of them. Well, Lulu and I had the unpleasant experience last night of finding one of the parents, curled and ready to strike. I never jumped so fast and high through a sliding door as I did right then. Lulu came pretty quick, too, although I'm not really certain she saw the snake as much as she thought it was playtime. I guess I must've come in screeching, because my SO sprang out of the bathroom, asking what happened. As soon as he heard the word "snake" he went in search of a weapon, came back with a broom. Seemed like a paltry little weapon against the deadly snake outside. But he managed to beat the thing to death.

Now, I'm sure there are those who would lament the passing of the snake. And I'm just as sure that the snake didn't have it in his/her mind to scare the bejesus out of me, or probably to even bite me unless I stepped on him/her/it. But I really don't care about any of that; when it comes to snakes I sincerely believe in the adage, "the only good snake is a dead snake." I liked him much better gone. We measured him later. He was 27 inches which is almost a record. The longest copperhead either of us had heard of was 30 inches.

A second drawback to country life appeared this morning in the bathroom, just as the SO was drying off from his shower. It was about two inches long, tan, with a prehistoric looking body, and a long stinging tail that was arched up and in position to defend itself from the enemy -- the SO, who promptly smashed the scorpion with his house shoe. Enemy indeed. This was scorpion number 12.

We have been here fourteen months. Both of us love the peace and solitude, the birds singing in the morning, the deer coming to the little corn feeder at dusk. We love sitting in the hot tub on the back patio, looking up through the silhouette of tree limbs at the star-studded sky, and at the moon rising over the rooftop. I still get a chuckle over the gaggle of lanky turkey jakes that greeted me one morning last spring, and even at the armadillo who comes out in the night to dig up my flowerbeds. But I don't love the snakes or the scorpions. Those I could definitely live without -- forever.

Turns out the Viewpoints editor at the local paper actually DOES want my piece. For some reason when I sent it, right before we left for the mountains, the email went into the newspaper's SPAM folder. I queried him again this morning and he found it there. He said he really likes it, feels it's timely and interesting, but he wants me to cut 400 words. Which is a lot. And I had so thought I had already ground it down to the bone, had a tight, fast-paced article. I told him I would do the editing tonight and send it again, all trim and neat, in the morning. Guess I better get to work on that.

Onward ...