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“Snake!”
I can’t tell you at this point if that exclamation was stated, shouted, or just thought. The reptile showed itself for just a moment. It was in motion, so, almost a blur. So was I.
Mowing grass (and other voluntary green broadleaves that contribute to Angelkeep lawn) beside a two-foot strip of rip rap quarry stone caused the snake to head for cover. It chose the rock bed which is a separation between lawn and the backyard Angelkeep patio.
The snake took little time, to great human relief, in completely disappearing under the rocks. The dark charcoal colored legless visitor headed to the right, away from the path of the push style lawnmower, at a corresponding speed that the “mow-ee” darted to the left. I learned about motion at Lancaster HS, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
No doubt it was another Blue Racer. Educated “snake professionals” claim that a Blue Racer actually only moves at about four miles per hour, or about the rate of a swift jogger. For a very short period of time, at Angelkeep, it was surely at least the Hoosier maximum I-69 speed limit by both me and the snake.
This was not the first time a serpent dared to enjoy the comforts of Angelkeep, the Eden-like haven Gwen and I call “heaven” and “home.” The earlier visitor, another Blue Racer, was coiled and sunning in almost the exact spot. Then it was observed from about 25 feet away.
Being cautious (and possessor of but a half-load of courage), a plan of frightening the snake away by tossing a rock was undertaken. The toss at Street Fair would have won a Cupie Doll. The “shot-putted” limestone chunk actually caught the snake’s head resting on another flat rock. An instant kill (but unintended, mind). Its accuracy proves instantly that miracles do occur in the twenty-first century.
Today’s snake was about one and one-quarter inches thick at the fattest point noticed when it slid under the limestone. Probably at least fifteen inches was visible when it was first seen escaping. A calculated guess is that it is about three feet in total length, matching the snake that “passed on” at Angelkeep a few years ago. That makes it an average adult—as Blue Racers go.
I should have guessed its presence. Not long before the encounter, a skin was found winding between several of the rip rap in the exact location. Its discovery came at a time when long-ignored thistles were finally being extracted from the rocks.
Thistles grow anywhere and everywhere at Angelkeep. Choosing which must be pulled and which are allowed to bloom (and feed finches) requires much patio thinking time. Pulling thistles now capable of casting long shadows across the patio should have been done earlier—like prior to the bark being formed on their stalks.
I think it is best that I don’t tell Gwen about the Blue Racer living beside the patio. She wasn’t real keen on finding out about the snake skin that was shed there. She’s sure not to relish knowing that the previous owner of the skin is yet “out and about.”
Not long ago, Gwen was—shall we say—on the annoyed side, when a baby ground hog strolled onto the patio during one of our evening patio campfire and book reading times. It stopped about ten feet from her, stared like it expected a formal invitation to stay and eat, and then left in no great hurry. Gwen, God bless her, was not—shall we say—thrilled.
This Blue Racer incident is best left unannounced. That means I’ll have to edit and correct my own column. That task Gwen usually does so much better. But this little secret is for her own good.
Please don’t send copies of the snake column to Angelkeep. Help hide the blue Racer’s existence. And if you should see Gwen, remember, “mums the word.”
Mr. Daugherty is a Wells County resident who, along with his wife Gwen, enjoy their back yard and have named it “Angelkeep.”
by ALAN DAUGHERTY
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