Nov 16, 2011 4 min read

It’s a famous line now from a popular film of the 1980s. “Snakes. I hate snakes,” said the hero, Indiana Jones, as he faced thousands of deadly vipers.

Well, it’s not an uncommon feeling. Lots of people hate snakes. For instance, one of my co-workers called her husband to come home and dispose of the languorous serpent in their driveway.

“What color was it,” I asked after she recounted the story.

“Green on top and sort of whitish underneath,” she replied.

“Sounds like a garter snake,” I said, adding that they are harmless.

Not that I am a snake lover. I tolerate the ones I know do more good than harm. Growing up in the country I learned to a degree which ones are which. I have never killed one. And, as a small boy, I was amazed to watch one give birth to live (not in an egg) babies on our front porch.

In fact, where we once lived would have been a snake lover’s paradise. There were some serpents in that forested region that would have given rise to myths. Like the king of all black snakes that I found in the driveway one day.

Glistening in the sunlight scattered about as it passed through summer foliage, this creature was semi-coiled and still looked to be a good seven feet long. Its girth was what amazed me. It was larger around than my forearm. No, I’m not Hercules, but I’m no wimp, either.

I had just lifted the garage door from inside and there he was. He wasn’t too inclined to move. I stood there, staring at it. Finally, it propelled itself across the gravel, slowly, slithering off into the woods.

That probably explained why we rarely saw mice or other small rodents around our house.

Dad told me stories of two more visits from black snakes.

One, a smaller creature than the serpent I saw, scurried across the garage floor (the garage was part of the house, underneath my bedroom and that of my parents) and started up the wall.

Our home had a cement block foundation. The house rested upon a wooden seal plate, which covered about half of the block. That meant some of the holes in the top of the blocks remained open. Dad said he tried to get the snake but it hurried down into one of the holes in the blocks.

“I couldn’t figure out how to get it out and I sure didn’t want to leave it there,” he said.

The solution?

“I mixed up a little cement and sealed the hole it went down shut,” dad said. I’d like to see the people who someday decide they want to remodel or tear down that end of the house. Think they’ll be surprised?

The final story dad related was after I had left home. One morning he walked into our bathroom, noticing sleepily there was something in the bathtub. Yes. It was another black snake.

“I don’t know how it got in there,” he said. But it didn’t stay long.

We also had a visit from a creature not as benign. One Saturday morning while I was at work on my first real newspaper job, dad and mom were raking away some of the debris that had gathered around the edge of the house. The snake that appeared was copper in color and had a rather unique design on its back. This was a Copperhead, one of the poisonous serpents that live in this region. It met its end by being flattened with a shovel.

When I got home, there was a bushel basket turned suspiciously upside down in the front yard. My first instinct was to pick it up. I didn’t. I later learned the snake was under it, dead, and waiting for disposal.

My family sold that house some years later. No, it wasn’t because it was Hotel Viper. My parents were getting ready to retire and wanted to move to the mountains. Where, of course, there are also snakes. And other creatures. Like bears, wildcats, etc.

I don’t think my co-worker’s husband would be too keen on coming home to rid the driveway of one of those critters.

Have a good day.

James Pletcher Jr. is HeraldStandard.com business editor and can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by email at jpletcher@heralstandard.com.