I was out running through some brilliantly glowing autumn woods last week, and I almost stepped on FIVE garter snakes. Five, within about 20 minutes. All different sizes. I suppose they were out sunning themselves one last time before going dormant for winter. That’s fair. They should be basking in the lingering warmth of this mild autumn. They had me nearly jumping out of my skin though.
I mean, some people really enjoy snakes. One year at the Minnesota State Fair, we came upon a guy sitting on a big purple plastic storage bin. As we were walking past him, he got up, took the lid off the bin and proceeded to remove an enormous yellow and white python for an impromptu showing. It was a beautiful creature, really, though I’m not sure you could pay me enough to hold it like he was, all draped over him like a scarf. Terrifying.
Then the other day my friend Greg (check out his latest book that’s due out later this fall!) posted a photo of a plant called a Cobra Lily, right after I saw a post from another friend who’s living in China, saying how he’d just seen a dead cobra on his run. Which reminded me of a conversation I had last fall at a college alumni dinner where I got to talking with an old classmate’s partner, a man who grew up in Kenya. Both runners, we were talking about our favorite trail spots and he shared how much he loves running in Minnesota, where “it’s cold, but no one has to watch for black mambas on the trail, either.” Gah.
So anyway, all of this snake stuff got me thinking about my own snake story, which I will share with you today.
It was the stuff of childhood lore, really, those few years when garter snakes declared the low area just behind the house their territory. We’d lead unsuspecting friends over to the barrel with the mesh lid on it and they’d run away shrieking at the sight of that day’s capture writhing up the sides, looking for escape. In the evening, Dad would take the barrel down to the river and send them on their way, slithering into freedom, hoping they’d find a new home base somewhere other than the backyard. Who knows – maybe they came right back up the hill and we captured the same snakes over and over again.
I read an article in Orion Magazine once about snakes, and the fear that they tend to invite into people’s lives. Author Melanie Challenger writes about some research on primates that shows that we humans are perhaps hardwired to detect snakes, and that “the dominant feelings .. would appear to be fear and hostility, essential internal states to safeguard survival.” Avoiding a run in with a venomous snake = good survival tactic. Of course, fears can come from the stories we grow up within, too, which is always something to consider when digging into and facing them head on. Sometimes those fears need to be challenged, and sometimes they serve a true purpose.
There are a lot of scary stories out there in the world that are based on snakes as the evil villain, whether said snakes deserve it or not. Fear of snakes is a thing, even if (or perhaps especially if) you didn’t grow up with a snake bucket in the wood shed.
Me, to one of my brothers: “Can you check the compost pile for heat? Just stick your hand in to see if things are breaking down.”
Brother: “No way, there might be snakes in there.”
Despite being individuals who spend a great deal of time outdoors due to vocation (vegetable farming) and enjoyment (hiking, gardening, communing with nature, etc), and a childhood that got pretty up close and personal with reptiles, my brothers and I have an underlying aversion to these no-legged creatures. They are an essential part of a healthy ecosystem, and they help keep rodent populations in the high tunnels down at the farm. But a large garter snake crawled out of the tall grass next to our garage just the other day, and I gasped louder than I care to admit. So I’m with Challenger when she goes on to say, “This is not to say they no longer inspire anxiety in me, irrational or otherwise. They do. They absolutely do.” Yes. They do.
But perhaps, facing those snakes in the barrel all summer long for those years in the 1980s was just an early opportunity to look fear in the face and realize it isn’t [quite] so scary when you let it look (or writhe) back at you. When you take time to discern true threat from illusion. And then throw it in the river to go on its merry way.
It’s worth saying that the low area in my folks’ back yard is no longer referred to as “the snake pit” and the last two decades have seen very normal garter snake populations at the homestead. And no snakes were harmed in the snake bucket experiment. Just relocated.
Challenger wrote, in that Orion article, “When it comes to our fears, stories matter deeply. We can tell stories that trigger our biases or stories that steady our arm.” Whether it’s a story about snakes or a story about group of people, let us focus on the stories that steady our arm and help us discern true threat from illusion. Let us focus on the stories that invite peace as the only viable path forward.
My husband found a snake skin this past summer nestled in with some rocks by the driveway…maybe even the skin of that one that made me gasp by the garage. Snakes will probably always startle me, but they hold their own beauty, too, as most fearsome things do.
If you have a snake story, please feel welcome to share it in the comments. ….
Upcoming events:
I'll be at the Shalom Spirituality Center on Nov. 17 and 18. During the Day of Renewal, I'll be available for 30-minute coaching interactions where you'll have the opportunity to share your hopes for the rest of the calendar year and strategize around how to navigate successfully through the holiday season to start 2024 feeling ready for whatever comes next. Then on Nov. 18, the 12 Tiny Things workshop will be focused on cultivating some simple practices to walk intentionally through this season of active waiting. We’ll lean deeply into gratitude, connect with nature, and practice mindfulness to ensure you have the tools you need to approach Christmas and the new year with peace at your center. If you're within driving distance of Dubuque, I hope to see you there!
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Thanks for the shoutout, Heidi.
I used to get the heebie jeebies from snakes growing up which has gradually faded away through my adulthood. In college I used to hike a lot in the Great Smoky Mountains in East Tennessee. Often with friends, but just as often alone when others had plans of their own. On one of these hikes which was on a long trail which was mainly a traverse, undulating up and down over many miles without many steep accents, my hike turned into more of a spontaneous trail run both out of sheer enjoyment and perhaps to save some time as it was a really long trail. I think I covered about 17 miles that day if memory serves. During this run I came upon a snake crossing the trail which I had to leap over to avoid stepping on in my haste. It gave me a good start, but also a thrill.
I was reminded of the Buddhist tale about the farmer who was walking home in the twilight who mistook a rope for a snake, the lesson being that our mistaken perceptions can cause us all kinds of stress and anxiety and are often much more frightening than reality.
On another occasion, some friends and I were hiking along the basalt cliffs of the Boise river. There is an area called the Black Cliffs where people rock climb on the basalt columns above the North bank, but we were exploring the South bank that day, looking for some new spots. We picked our way through the boulder fields below the cliffs for several minutes before we heard a rattlesnake start up somewhere off to one side. We carefully changed course and forged ahead until another started up on the other side, then another. We weren’t sure where they were in the boulders or how many there were, only that we were surrounded and could not get out of there fast enough!
Later, when I worked on an Organic CSA farm in New Mexico and stumbled upon a large black snake in the fields one day(probably a rat snake as it was at least 4 feet long)I decided to catch it as a way of getting over the skin crawling sensation they used to inspire in me (something about the wiggling and writhing I think). I was able to pin it down gently with a stirrup hoe and grab it behind the head. I picked it up and gave it a nice long once over before letting it go on its merry way. It’s probably been about 20 years since then and snakes no longer make me want to jump out of my skin. Now they just engender the same fascination as any other animal I encounter in nature.
By the way, the cobra lillies (Darlingtonia californica) are at a nice little roadside natural area near Florence, Oregon, the Darlingtonia State Natural Site.
Horses don't like snakes either. You are not alone. However, there is a place for them, as there is a place for us.