On Snakes and Things We Fear

This is the rainiest April/May that I can remember since living here in Northwest Arkansas almost 13 years. I'm not complaining too much. Our flowers, plants, trees and grass look phosphorescent and brilliant with greens, purple, orange and pink. What's tough about all this rain is the wanting to be outside and stuck inside. We'll have a few dry days here and there, but that rain just seems to keep on coming.

It's almost like even the local habitat is itching for sun. On an earlier, sort-of-sunny day this week, I saw a snake crossing the road, like it was just aching to feel the warm, scratchy black asphalt underneath its' body while scurrying to get to the other side. A couple weeks ago, I saw a dead snake on the paved road right where we turn to go down the road to our house. Every time I would come or go, there it was, with its' white underbelly exposed, a mangled, rotting mess. I remember thinking that I'd be surprised if it stayed there long because surely some smart critter would find it and take it as a prize like Gollum would a raw fish in Lord of the Rings.

Headed out the next day, I was turning left and I saw that the dead snake was gone. On the one hand, I was kind of grossed out, but then at the same time, I kind of gave a head-nod in solidarity to nature that, that's how it's supposed to be, that maybe a hawk or a opossum found it and took it to feast upon. And, after that, it reminded me of my fear of snakes and two stories came to mind.

My mother is all-caps AFRAID of snakes. If she even saw a snake on TV when I was growing up, we heard a displeased, low murmur come from her direction. To me, she doesn't seem afraid of much, so we all very much took note of this Ophidiophobia.

I remember this one time gardening with her in my early-teen years. We'd weeded the garden and planted some impatiens in a flower bed in our front yard. I had gone in to do something and while I was gone she had finished planting all the flowers in the bed. She wanted me to come see the finished product because we'd conceptualized at the nursery what we thought would look best and we had picked out the flowers together.

Alone, in my work clothes and gloves, I went back to the flower bed to take a look and bent down close, sort of almost sticking my nose in the flowers. When I did that, I saw a harmless green garden snake with yellow stripes running down its back and completely lost my breath in fear. If memory serves, I don't remember that ever happening to me before then. Staring the snake in the eyes, I slowly backed up and tried to shake the smothering fear while at the same time, trying to muster up a yelp. When I couldn't even do that, I ran back toward the house. I guess when the adrenaline took over and the fear left, I let out the loudest yelp. My mom heard it and came running outside.

Holding my stomach with eyes wide open, I calmly said, "snake." You'd think the Boogey man got her because her face became blank and she screamed bloody murder without even seeing that silly 'ole snake. When I got my wits about me, I laughed harder at her than maybe I ever had. What I wonder is if I would currently be so afraid of snakes if she hadn't be so then ... and always?

The second snake story is also ridiculous. We were newlywed and had just bought our first house earlier that year in the summer. That 1100 square foot house felt like a mansion to me and it also felt like we might as well have paid a million dollars for it we were so poor.

I had spent a year overseas in college and so I was behind and was making that year of school up in my first year of marriage. We were babies when we got married. We didn't think we were at the time, but looking back now, although I think in some ways we were very mature for 21 and 24, we were also babies. Christian was working for a small local CPA firm while studying to sit for and pass the CPA. He was doing the 8-5 while I worked part-time and finished school.

This house, our first house, was up on a hill and because it was, the cement walkway in front of our house was cracked in a couple places because our yard sloped down to the street. One crack was notably larger than the other. I remember having a 4:30 p.m. biology lab class that lasted for several hours. It was probably March because it was just starting to warm up and we were finally seeing the beginning signs of spring.

I grabbed my backpack and my keys and headed out the door. Taking maybe five steps, I saw a pencil-thin, gray-colored snake with a yellow ring around its neck, coming up out of that larger crack. I had never seen a snake like that before. I was familiar with local poisonous snakes, the copperhead, water moccasin and even the rattlesnake, because every canoe trip I'd ever taken, this always seemed to be spoken of. This snake was neither poisonous nor near water and it was kind of pretty. What was ironic is that my biology lab teacher was doing his dissertation on snakes and I was desperate to get to that class to ask him about it.

I did a major detour through my front yard and almost hopped on top of my car I was such a sissy. Getting to class, when I finally could, I had a chat with my teacher. He assured me (even took me to his snake chart) that it was a northern ring-neck snake that was completely harmless, but multiplied quickly. That was not good news to me, but at the time was just glad it wasn't poisonous.

Fast forward to the next summer. Christian's Grandpa, whom I dearly loved, had been fighting with Alzheimer's and had deteriorated, eventually forgetting how to eat. When he rapidly declined and then died, we had family in from all over to put the funeral on. Christian's sister and I got together pictures of their grandparent's lives, copied them and made story boards to display in his honor. We had done all the layout work and had started assembly when Heather bent down to get something from her purse which was on the floor near an old china hutch we have. She moved her purse and yelped straight up to high heaven, hopping up out of her chair at the same time. Inside my house on my carpeted floor was a baby northern ring-neck snake. We're talking the size of a glorified worm y'all. What this meant gave me a chill all down and through my body and even made my eyes pop and freeze a little bit. That dang snake had made a nest somewhere under my house and hatched some babies. After that had sunk in, I literally didn't want my feet to touch the ground in my own home.

I have friends who fear spiders, driving at night, one who fears driving on bridges over water, even those who fear the texture of things. That stuff doesn't really bother me like snakes do. Isn't it funny what we're afraid of? Why does fear paralyze us so? Ultimately, I'm guessing we fear getting hurt or injured in some way and so we think it's commonsensical to just avoid ... which is legitimate, but sometimes so silly. That I lost my breath over a garden snake or almost didn't go to class because of a northern ring-neck snake really does make me laugh at myself a little. So, that leads me to open this up and ask, what are you afraid of, and why?