Bright and sunny yesterday so by 7:30 a.m. I was dressed in my worker bee gear and headed out to continue playing catch up on the property. I slammed on my work boot brakes when I found a tiny vole lying on the porch. The first I’ve seen (alive or dead) on my property since my arrival. I wish I could say he was sunning himself, but it appeared something had caught him unaware and decided my porch should be his resting place. I disagree.
Some folks can pick up dead birds, rodents, etc. with a paper towel and toss them in the trash. I, on the other hand, wanting to show great respect by not touching them, nearly decimate their already lifeless bodies trying to scoop them up with the shovel. One would think that would be an easy task, the scooping part; but it’s harder than it looks. I usually end up scooting them along for a time before I give in to the fact that I’m going to have to create a barrier on the other side, which entails the possibility of contact.
Once I got the tiny vole on the shovel I took him over to his grave site; a sunny spot now known as the “volesoleum.”
Once the service was over and I finished the post-funeral refreshments, I got back to chorin’. I headed out to the back of the property to gather up some tarps because I’ve been busy creating more piles for haulin’. Now, the back 40 has turned into a field of high grass that the deer love, but it seems to have become a haven for other wildlife, too. The slithering kind. Oh, you know what’s comin’.
If you’ve been reading along from the beginning, you might remember back in the early days my run in with a little black number coiled so tightly I thought it was a pile of poo…until I poked at it with my hoe and it raised up its angry little head. Now, I’m pretty much hobbled from two years of keeping the property as neat and tidy as any neurotic city dweller would think necessary, but seeing a snake lights a fire under me and I can run pretty dang fast. Of course, it’s not a true “runner’s” stride. It’s the kind of run that has a lot of jumping up and down to go with it, and rather than arms swinging by the side for momentum, mine are raised to the sky in a hallelujah kind of way. And that’s exactly the running technique I used when I pulled back the tarp and found this guy snuggled up underneath it. Ssssssnake! my feet screamed.
I ran in the direction of the car where I had my camera (still warm from the funeral photos), and another vole (this one alive) shot out from a tarp and went running toward the snake. I so hoped this wasn’t going to turn into a Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom moment because I’m no Jim Fowler and I certainly didn’t have it in me to save that little vole from that snake. What I learned that morning was that a vole can stop almost as fast as I can when it sees a snake and make a beeline in the opposite direction, which would be in my direction. Now I had to worry about that vole running up my pant legs because wouldn’t you know, I forgot to put my rubber bands around my ankles. (Yes, it’s really hard to be me.) So, I’m running, my hallelujah arms pumping up and down, when I look down and see the vole is running alongside me, until it passes me on my right and heads into the woods. It’s just me and the snake. I zoomed in as much as I could, snapped the photo and jumped in the car like a paparazzi with the willies.
Here’s the thing: I’m going to be on the lookout for that snake under every tarp and rock, around ever tree trunk. I’m going to jump and down and slap myself silly every time I mistake a stick for that snake. In other words, I’m going to work myself into a frenzy over that snake. And then one day I’m going to forget all about that snake. And that’s the day that snake, or one of his buddies, is going to surprise me again. And isn’t that what life’s all about?