I Think We Got 'Em

This has been a gruesome spring in these here parts. Five measly letters and they spell SNAKE. This snake story started about three weeks ago when our grandson, Collin, came to visit. He innocently asked to jump on the "jumpoline" which is our trampoline. Collin, only three, needed booster assistance to get on board - so Grandma to the rescue. As we walked out to the tramp/jumpo there, lying underneath, was a mid sized garter snake. For one who doesn't "do" snakes (moi) he seemed like a forty foot anaconda carrying six shooters. Like Earl, he had to die.

Over the years this green turned glorified country girl has learned to kill snakes, (Not bats or lizards though) maybe not the forty foot kind, but a garter snake, yes. My preferred weapon of choice is the hoe, not one with a wimpy little pie shaped head, but one with a firm wide metal blade, heavy artillery.

So Collin and I bolted for the garage to get the hoe. We raced back to the tramp for fear he may get away. It is now I get dramatic. Up comes the hoe, well over my head, with my knees bent like a Twins batter, as I prepare for the slam. I then make this blood curdling "aaayaaa." while the hoe comes down at a blurring speed. I have made the first blow, only to follow with a few more, never quite sure if this is one of those regenerating reptiles. Who knows, they may have mutated their genetics since I was in science class. Should that be the case, my victims don't want to regrow anything by the time I am done with them.

I realize this is not good grandma behavior, but Collin is a farm kid and he should learn from a pro, who else to teach him but his beloved grandmother. He does call me grandma Lizzie.

Now the story isn't over yet. This first snake take was about 10:30 in the morning, before sundown we had killed 16 snakes all in one area, out the south door. Grandpa did most of the slaying as the day wore on. Collin would stand the back stoop and yell "get 'em Papa, get 'em Papa." We poured diesel fuel down these little holes, later some gas. Some times they would slither around almost disoriented.

We figured they must have a den underneath our ash tree. Years ago there was a huge elm tree now with only old dead root rubble underground, perfect for a snake den. Each spring we usually would knock off a few here and there, but this was of record proportion. For the next week we totaled 23 - some little, some rather large. I would come home from work at noon, eat lunch, throw some clothes in the dryer, check the mail, kill a few snakes.

Things have been quiet out the south door. Word must be out in the snake world about a loud mouthed blond with a wicked hoe. It did turn cool and their sunning was less then favorable, but not to see any in over a week and a half - I think we got 'em Papa!