The grizzly bear, the black bear, the wolf, and finally the mountain lion left, first the Midwest and then the High Plains at about the same time that the so-called civilized man moved into those areas. With those top of the food chain predators gone, you would think that the outdoor people would have nothing to fear. Wrong! Those of us raised on the land know differently. There is one creature we walk in constant fear of. A creature that the mere sight of causes the hair on the back of the neck to stand up and the skin to crawl. I’m talking about snakes. The poisonous kind of snake!
On the high plains of Kansas and Nebraska where I spent the first ten years of my life, the most common reptiles of the snake kind were the colorful bullsnake- a harmless and beneficial rodent hunter, and the deadly diamondback rattlesnake. Both types of snakes were common on the farm we lived on in Cheyenne County Kansas.
I had my most memorable encounter with a diamondback when I was about six years old… We had a rogue cow that had learned that she could stick her head through the fence and push over a weak post. Once done she had easy access to the adjoining corn or grain field. Dad looked over west toward the field of young corn and saw the cow out. He laid his posthole diggers, a shovel, a post and tamping tool across the back bumper of the old A-Model Ford. I came running out of the house barefooted wanting to go along. He agreed to let me go if I stayed in the car.
Down the lane we went into the pasture. The cow had been through the procedure so many times that she readily went back into the pasture with a little encouragement from a switch. Dad unloaded his tools and set about changing out the broken post.
I was an active kid, and I soon reneged on my promise to stay in the car. First, I moved to the running board and in an attempt to keep my bare feet off the blazing hot bare ground, I started jumping from clump to clump of the short, curly, and soft buffalo grass. About the third clump I heard the warning buzz of rattles and felt an old diamondback move under my bare foot. I went ballistic, screaming and jumping as high as my young legs would carry me. Dad came running around the car yelling, “Did it bite you?!” Of course I wouldn’t stop hollering, and he jerked off my overalls looking for fang marks on my legs. When he did not find the bite marks and I calmed down enough to tell him how it happened, he deduced I was not bitten. The poor old rattler lost its head to the posthole diggers anyhow. It had no doubt curled itself tightly around the clump of grass to take advantage of the sparse shade. This fact probably kept it from striking and saved me from a bad experience.
Here in the Ozarks we have many harmless snakes, the most prevalent being the black rat snake. But the ones to give a wide birth are the timber rattler, the cottonmouth moccasin, and perhaps the most hard to spot and thus avoid is the copperhead.
Snake stories, I have told one or two. I could tell a dozen.